Breaking Apart
by LiechLiet
Summary: Grudges held, bonds broken and hatred nutured in a world where everybody has a history and everyone has skeletons in their closets. AU, rated for themes and language.
1. Prologue

**I'm back, with a complex alternate universe! This is set in the same AU as 'Live a Little' and 'Summers and Francis', so I would recommend reading those along with this, especially 'Live a Little', to get more of a feel for the AU. **

**The nations are all now Kings, Queens, Lords and Ladies on a huge mass of land which is split into five kingdoms: The Britannic Kingdom, with England, America and Canada, the Kingdom of Fire and Ice, with the Nordics, The Eastern Kingdom, with the Asians, The Long-Winter Kingdom, with Russia, Ukraine, Belarus, the Baltics and Poland, and the Great Kingdom, which is basically the other European nations which haven't already been mentioned.**

**The Great Kingdom is the most complicated because it is split between a group of monarchs. Each part is named for the real nation it represents, so for example, King Ludwig is the ruler of Deutschland. King Francis, one of the main characters, rules the territory France, but it is pronounced _Fronce, _as they say it in French.**

**I'm uploading this now so that I can get feedback, specifically if you want me to continue this story - I want to know if you're enjoying it! Any feedback at al is appreciated. It's a short prologue, I know. I might upload the first chapter too, to give you a feel for the rest of the story... Now, on with 'Breaking Apart'!**

* * *

**Breaking Apart**

* * *

_The Eastern Kingdom, mid-Autumn_

His eyes glowed in the ethereal light of the sunset.

Two adolescents walked in the vast, ornate gardens of the Palace in the Eastern Kingdom. The air was warm with a slight, refreshing breeze. His green military school uniform was pressed, the buttons polished, and the boots shining. Her richly embroidered cheongsam glinted red and gold, and her tiny flowerpot soled shoes added an extra inch to her delicate stature.

Sixteen-year-old Princess Chun-Yan knew what Prince Arthur wanted, and he knew that she knew. His father and brood of siblings had stayed at her family's Grand Palace for the past four months, and yet she hardly knew him.

That obviously didn't matter to him.

They walked in silence. Their fathers trusted them alone together now. The Emperor knew that Chun-Yan was a sensible girl, and Arthur had proved himself to be impeccably mannered and courteous.

"Do you know why I was sent to military school?" Arthur suddenly asked. Chun-Yan looked over to him, and saw those glimmering eyes.  
"Why were you sent to military school?" she asked, looking away again. She was a dignified young woman.  
"I can put on a show for my father," Arthur smirked, "but truly I am rather… _promiscuous_." _  
_"I do not understand." It was only partly a lie – she truly didn't know what the word meant, but she understood perfectly his tone of voice and his expression.

"Oh, I think you do."  
He had her caught, and she was so inexplicably attracted to him that she had no way of escaping.  
"I leave in three days. This may be our only chance."

She led him to a small stone pavilion. He took down her hair and stroked her face and lifted her higher than she had ever been.

* * *

_The Long-Winter Kingdom, early winter_

"_Vanya!_"

Prince Ivan's head jerked up from the book he was reading. He was sitting in a large, plush armchair beside a roaring fire in the dimly lit library. His older sister, Princess Yekaterina – known as Katyusha or Katya to her siblings – stood in the doorway. The firelight flickered against her plain blue gown and her pale hair. Tears that so often shimmered in her watery blue eyes were openly spilling down her plump, flushed cheeks. The platinum-haired boy could see that his sister was shaking.

"Katya? What is wrong?" he exclaimed, jumping up. His book fell to the floor with a clatter, but he paid it no mind; he ran to his older sister. She collapsed into his arms and sobbed.  
"Father is dead," she choked, burying his face in the shoulder of his thick, warm winter coat.

Ivan froze. Their father. The stern general and king, who ruled his kingdom and his children with an iron fist. The cruel man who ridiculed Yekaterina for her simplicity, who ignored Natalya to the point of barely acknowledging her existence, and who enjoyed heaping pressure on Ivan's young shoulders. He was _gone_.

"W-W-What does this –"  
He was interrupted by his father's four most trusted advisors entering the room. They eyed the tall fourteen-year-old with a critical gaze which made Ivan's stomach go cold. A slender girl of eleven peered out from behind one of them. As soon as she saw Ivan, she ran at him and clung to him.  
"Big brother," she whispered, clutching his arm at the crook of his elbow. His arms around his weeping sisters, Ivan looked at the advisors.

"What is going to happen now?" he asked, steadying his voice. _I am confident. I am brave._ All four men, proud lords and commanders, glanced at each other before reluctantly sinking to their knees.  
"Your Majesty," they intoned as one.

Ivan felt weak. _He_ was… the king?

* * *

_The Great Kingdom, New Year_

It was over. Six months of battle between the lands of France and Deutschland, nicknamed 'the Autumn War',were finished. The Deutsch Army had gathered all of its soldiers for a massiveraid that had completely decimated the Français troops. France had been forced to give up so much land, but the army was nowhere near ready to get it back.

The New Year had been celebrated with the bitterness of being on the losing side.

Prince Francis walked through the torch-lit stone hallways more purposefully than he had ever walked before. His delicate, expensive shoes made nearly no sound on the cold stone floor. His face, so usually graced with a carefree smile, was set with a determined expression. A small, deep cut was etched into the skin on his high forehead.

He was heading to his father's study.

King Rodel was broad-shouldered and muscular, with chin length blond hair and a short beard. He did share some features with his fifteen-year-old son, but where Rodel was manly, Francis was… not as manly. Rodel did love his son, but he wished that the boy would stop floating around and take an interest in his country. Francis was clever enough to be a General, but he just didn't _care_ for it.

So imagine the King's surprise when Francis entered his study with a much stronger gait, sat down at the desk and asked him to explain what the loss of the war would mean for France.

"Do you see this map?" Rodel gestured to a large map of France that hung on the wall. "This is what France looked like two days ago."  
The King took a pen from in front of Francis, dipped it in a pot of ink, and marched angrily over to the map.

He slashed across the paper kingdom with an angry grunt, ripping the territory in two down the middle. He turned back to his shocked son, anger marring his chiselled features.  
"See what they have done to our land!" he shouted, brandishing the pen. Ink splattered across the desk. Francis stood up.  
"How can they do that?" he asked indignantly, striding over to the map. "They have cut France in half! They have no right to do that!" The prince ran his smooth, soft finger along the new inky border that separated France and used-to-be-France. His finger left the page with a smudged black mark marring the perfect creamy flesh.

"What do we do, Father?" Francis had a vengeful fire in his eyes that Rodel had never seen before. "How do we get our land back and restore honour to France?" His words were imbued with a rich, deep anger.

"We must wait, son," replied the King, astounded. He was shocked and _proud _that that Francis had turned over such a new leaf. All his prayers had been answered! "Well done, boy," he said gruffly, giving his son a hearty clap on the back. "It's about time you used your brains for the good of the land." His words had an undercurrent of sarcasm to them.

"Yes, we must wait." Francis was still staring at the ruined map. "We must wait until our army is the most powerful in the Kingdom. Then we will invade, and take back what is rightfully ours."

A slightly maniacal smile twitched on the edges of his adolescent lips. He would wait, and he would invade, and he would take back what was rightfully his.

* * *

**Please review, no matter what you think. Like it, offering constructive criticism, whatever, just please tell me so that I know whether to continue!**


	2. Actualisation

**I'm sorry, another short chapter. Really... I feel like I'm failing you. Especially since all the chapters after this are really long. I'll upload them soon, but I don't want to rush to upload the stuff I've written because I don't want you guys to have to wait as long as you did for the final chapters of this, as you did for the final chapters of WaU. So, bear with me?**

* * *

Chapter 1: Actualisation

_noun  
_making real or giving the appearance of reality

* * *

_August_

"Liet! Are you coming to bed?"  
Lady Felicja Laurinatis, neé Łukasiewicz, sat up in the double king-sized bed that her and her husband shared. Her husband's actual given name was Toris, but because the city and region he was born in and now ruled over was known as Lietuva, she had nicknamed him Liet and called him that ever since they had first met as almost-teenagers.

Now they were happily married and very much in love, thank you very much.  
Except that Toris had developed an aversion to being naked around her. Felicja didn't like that at all.

The man himself was at that moment sitting on the edge of the bed, unlacing his boots. It was ridiculously late at night (in fact, morning would be a better word), for Toris worked too hard.  
"I'll be a moment," he said in his usual gentle tone. "I must get changed."  
"Liet, we're married! Why have you gone back to the screen like you did when we were like, newlyweds?"  
"Speech, dear," Toris reminded her, purposely ignoring the question. Felicja huffed – she knew that her way of talking wasn't very ladylike, and she was trying to stop, but if one had spoken a certain way for their entire life, it would be difficult to stop.  
"That doesn't answer my question!"

"It doesn't matter," came her husband's voice from behind the screen. Felicja could see his silhouette through the thin screen. He was stripping his shirt off and shaking out his nightshirt.  
"It does!" she insisted. "I don't know what it is that's like, such a total secret that you have to keep it from _me_!" She didn't care about her speech anymore.

"Okay, okay." Toris stepped out from behind the screen, wearing his nightshirt and trousers. "I'll finish changing out here, are you happy?"  
"I don't understand why you couldn't _start _changing out here."  
"Felicja, _please_," he sighed, running a hand through his chin-length brown hair. His golden-haired wife lay back down, turning away from him and crossing her arms, an irritated frown on her face.

Evan after he turned off the gas lamp and lay down beside her, wrapping his arms around her, she still didn't turn back.

* * *

_The next day_

Miles away, in the Grand Palace of the Eastern Kingdom, King Ivan sat across from Empress Chun-Yan. The huge, pale, platinum-haired king looked rather out of place in the small and colourful room. His innocent smile was focused on the slight woman opposite him. She was small in stature, but not in strength or resilience. Ivan admired her.

"May I ask who the young man is?" Ivan gestured to the teenage boy sitting beside the Empress. He was obviously related to her, although his eyebrows were rather larger and his face was completely expressionless.  
"This is my nephew, Xiang." Xiang bowed his head stonily.

"Do you still wish to discuss… a union?" Chun-Yan spoke the last two words as if it were a trial to get them out. She wasn't comfortable with this man, even with the four guards at the door and her dear Xiang beside her.  
"Oh, yes." Ivan nodded, with the sweetness of a child. Chun-Yan could tell that there was more behind his seemingly kind face though. "In fact, I think that the strongest bond between our two kingdoms would be marriage."

Chun-Yan took a deep breath. "And may I ask why you feel the need to create such a bond?"  
Ivan lifted his teacup, marvelling at the delicate craftsmanship. The cup looked like a toy in comparison to his large, broad hands. "You know that the tensions in the Great Kingdom have been getting fiercer by the day. War could break out at any time. I seek only to protect us both."  
"Do I seem like I need protection?"  
"You have a steady trade route with the Britannic Kingdom, _da_?" Chun-Yan didn't need to understand his dialect to know what his last word was. "If King Arthur were to get involved in this war, which he most probably will, you would be at risk via this route."

"I still don't understand why the union must be made with marriage."  
"It is the most sacred bond between two kingdoms," simpered Ivan. Chun-Yan glanced sideways and caught Xiang's eye. She could see in his eyes a tiny spark of mischief, and smiled slightly before turning back to the king.

"I thought that your sister wanted your hand in marriage," she said calmly. The pink tinge on Ivan's cheeks vanished, and his smile melted faster than ice in a fireplace.  
"Natalya is… not well," he replied shortly. "Now –"  
"Perhaps she should see a doctor," interrupted Chun-Yan with a completely straight face. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Xiang's eyes narrowing slightly, a sure sign that he was amused. "We have a very good Royal Physician. The next trip I take to your kingdom, I will bring him with me and he can examine her."  
"That will not be necessary." Ivan was getting more uneasy by the minute.  
"I disagree, your Majesty. She is your true sister, is she not? Such feelings are unhealthy, do you not agree, Xiang?"  
The boy nodded seriously, playing along perfectly. Ivan took another sip of his tea, his pale eyebrows dipping into a tiny frown.  
"You do not want to discuss marriage, _da_? Very well. We will talk about something else."

That night, the screen door that separated Chun-Yan's bedchamber from Xiang's slid open. Chun-Yan stifled a yawn and drew back her covers, edging into the pallet bed she kept by her beside. Xiang slipped forward and grabbed her hands.  
"Stay in your own bed," he said quietly. "I will sleep on the pallet tonight."  
Chun-Yan smiled – Xiang always knew which nights she needed the comfort of him beside her, even though he was grown.

"Are you sure?" she couldn't resist asking.  
"Mother," he said firmly, settling onto the pallet, "you need as much rest as possible. You have to survive more talks with scary King Ivan."  
"He isn't _scary_."  
"He makes me shiver."  
"You don't have to sit with…" A yawn cut off the rest of her sentence.  
"Yes I do," he replied.  
"Such a good boy," Chun-Yan mumbled fondly. "Such a dutiful son…"

* * *

"Sire!" One of the numerous footmen of the Français castle hurried into Francis' plush study and bowed hastily. Francis looked up from the letter he was reading and smiled softly.

"It's that time of year, isn't it?" he murmured, more to himself that to the young man at the door.

Since his father had become unwell nearly ten years ago, Prince Francis had taken on further responsibility than one would expect for his age. Not forgetting his promise to himself he had made all those years ago, he would religiously review the military numbers at the end of every summer; number of soldiers and battalions, amounts of artillery, numbers of cannons, et cetera. However, when nearly five years later Rodel was declared mentally unfit to rule, Prince Francis became King Francis. Instead of checking the military data himself, it was sent to him. Not yet in the fifteen collections that he had made since the day he had started had the army been as powerful as it could be. He needed it to be _elite_.

Francis took the thick, cream-coloured envelope, and motioned for the footman to leave. When he was alone again, he took a letter opener and gently slit open the top of the envelope. Dropping the implement onto his desk and licking his thumb and forefinger slightly, he slipped the thick parchment out of it's casing and unfolded it.

His sapphire eyes scanned the page, growing wider as they drew nearer to the bottom. He blinked, awestruck, as he read the last sentence:

_As you can infer from this data, your Majesty, our army is at full strength and capacity. _

Francis leant back in his chair, setting the letter down carefully.

It was time.

* * *

**Review please? Thanks for reading :)**

**And here in an obscenely long character list, just to clear up any confusion:**

**England - King Arthur  
fem!America - Princess Amelia  
fem!Canada - Princess Madeline**

**France - King Francis  
Monaco - Princess Marie Emilie  
Netherlands - Lord Lars  
Belgium - Lady Bella  
Prussia - Prince Gilbert  
Germany - King Ludwig  
fem!N. Italy - Queen Felicita  
fem!S. Italy - Queen Lovina  
Spain - King Antonio  
Austria - Lord Roderich  
****Hungary - Lady Elizabeta  
Switzerland - Lord Basch  
Liechtenstein - Lady Lili  
San Marino - Lady Marianna**

**Russia - King Ivan  
Ukraine - Princess Yekaterina, 'Katyusha'  
Belarus - Princess Natalya  
Lithuania - Lord Toris  
fem!Poland - Lady Felicja  
Estonia - Lord Eduard  
fem!Latvia - Lady Raisa**

**Denmark - King Mathias  
Sweden - King Berwald  
fem!Norway - Queen Ingrid  
fem!Finland - Queen Kristiina, 'Tiina'  
Iceland - Prince Freyr**

**fem!China - Empress Chun-Yan  
fem!Japan - Sakura  
Hong Kong - Xiang, (He also has a Western name: Leon. But he has never used it)  
N. Korea - Hyung Soo  
S. Korea - Yong Soo**

**I hope that clears everything up for you guys!**


	3. Response

**This one is longer, with more plot - Like, five times longer than the previous chapter ^^; If you're reading this, thank you for not getting bored and clicking away :)**

**A small note about their titles: Whether a ruler is King, Queen, Lord, etc. depends on the size of their land. Francis, Ludwig and Antonio are all 'King' because their territories are the largest. Felicita and Lovina are Queens because they married Kings, but if they weren't married they would be Ladies because they rule Nord Italia and Sud Italia respectively. The others are Lords and Ladies because their land size is smaller than the above mentioned. **

**Also, the ****'Marianna' mentioned is Nutty Nerd's OC for San Marino. She's Feli and Lovi's older sister. The 'Alleman Lands' is the territory that used to be France before the Autumn War, but is now Deutschland. Baltija is the region including the cities and surrounding agricultural lands of Polska, Lietuva, Eesti and Latvija, which makes up about a fourth of the Long-Winter Kingdom. I hope it isn't too confusing!**

**Enjoy~!**

* * *

Chapter 2: Response

_noun  
_the act of responding; reply or reaction

* * *

_August_

King Ludwig pushed his fork into the mound of pasta on his plate, resigned. To tell the truth, he didn't enjoy pasta all that much. Yet it was served every other day at the Deutsch Castle: pasta with vegetables, with meat, with every different sauce, long strings of pasta or small lumps, pasta stuffed with every different filling. It had been this way for just over a year and Ludwig was getting _sick _of it.

But when he saw his beautiful _Italiana _queen Felicita's eyes light up at the sight of her native food, and watched her eat every bite with a reverence beaten only by her vigour for religion, he decided he could handle it.

"Where did Gilbert go?" Felicita asked curiously, referring to Ludwig's older brother, who had stuffed down his dinner fifteen minutes before and had departed upstairs with hardly a word to his two companions.  
"To write letters," replied Ludwig with an irritated sigh. "Really, it is rude to leave the table before everybody has finished their meal. I don't know why I allow him to do it every day," he muttered to himself.  
"Who does he write to all the time?"  
"Roderich and Elizabeta, mainly – I think he wastes paper and messengers just to annoy them – and his 'consort', Princess Madeline."

"Consort? Is Gilbert going to be wed?" Felicita asked excitedly, not waiting for the answer before she sang, "Weddings are so beautiful! We should host it here, Ludwig! We can serve lots of pasta and some Deutsch food and Britannic food if Madeline wants it, although if there is pasta I don't think she will, and there will be dancing and singing and my sister can attend and –"  
"_Felicita!"_ Ludwig interrupted, before his wife's tangent could turn into a spiel that went on for hours – it had happened before. "I don't know if Gilbert and Madeline will be wed. They have only met once, and next time Madeline meets him she will probably dislike him as much as Elizabeta did when she first came to Deutschland as a possible wife for him."  
"We should ask him about it," said Felicita, oblivious to what Ludwig had just said. "Once dinner is finished, I shall go and ask him!"

Ludwig's response was cut off by a loud knock on the door.  
"Enter!"  
A messenger entered, bowed, and handed Ludwig an envelope.  
"My apologies for interrupting you, Sire, but I bring urgent news." Ludwig frowned, and gestured for the man to go on. "The army of King Francis has invaded the Alleman Lands."  
"What?" An invasion? There was no reason for any invasion. There was tension between Deutschland and France, of course, but there had been no major battles in recent years. Of course, the Alleman Lands were the territories that had originally belonged to France, before the war fifteen years ago. But why would Francis choose now to attack him?

Ludwig tore open the envelope and his heart sank. It was as he had feared: a declaration of war.  
"What's happening?" asked Felicita worriedly. "What's wrong, Ludwig?"  
"King Francis has started a war against us," the blond King replied in a slight daze. He couldn't quite believe it. But nevertheless, he stood up. "Fetch my brother from his chamber," he ordered the messenger. "Then send word to all our allies and tell them to come here as soon as possible. Roderich, Elizabeta, Antonio and Lovina, Basch… all of them!"

More of the footmen had been summoned by the sound of their King's commanding tone. Ludwig set each of them in a task with mounting urgency.  
"You, dispatch two battalions to the Alleman Lands to fight the invasion! You and you, organise evacuation of those who live in the battle zone! You, go and _order _my useless brother downstairs!"

Felicita watched as her husband quickly and efficiently organised himself. If the war went like this, it would be over within the week. However, Felicita had an ominous notion that this war wasn't going to be a short one.

* * *

Two days later, the allies of Deutschland had all arrived, and were seated around a long table with Ludwig at the head and Prince Gilbert, with his usual smirk, beside him. Lord Basch of Schweiz, who wore a slight frown, Lord Roderich of Österreich and his wife Lady Elizabeta of Magyar, who both looked concerned, sat on one side. On the other was King Antonio of España, who was smiling cheerfully, and his wife Queen Lovina, who was frowning ferociously. She was the twin sister of Queen Felicita, and together they ruled the land of Italia, left to them by their grandfather. The twins sat together, nearly identical in appearance if not for the opposite expressions they wore.

"Everyone, I am sorry to have called you from your homes with such urgency," Ludwig began, "but as I am sure you know, King Francis has invaded Deutschland, and from what my commanders tell me, his army is very strong. I ask you, as allies of this land, to help me drive him back."

"What do you need, Ludwig?" asked Antonio with a gracious smile.  
"Primarily, soldiers," was the reply. "The Français army has so far overpowered the divisions I have already sent."  
"If we each sent a thousand," said the suntanned man thoughtfully, "would that be enough to drive them back?"  
"Is a thousand each really necessary?" asked Lord Basch, with a slightly pained expression. "If you think about the size of our lands, one thousand men is rather a lot."  
"Where is your sense of loyalty to family, Basch?" sniffed Lord Roderich in his usual aristocratic fashion. "You are too frugal to spare a few soldiers to save a cousin?"  
"I don't recall asking _you_ anything!" snapped Basch. The pair had been close childhood friends, until Roderich's parents had told him he was above Basch because he would inherit more land. Roderich had promptly told Basch exactly what his parents had said, and the friendship was broken. Even so many years on, they still rubbed each other up the wrong way.  
"You always did have problems with your temper," tutted Roderich.

Before Basch could react, rather violently in all probability, Ludwig cut in with, "Why don't we discuss numbers again? Basch, if you feel that one thousand will put too much of a strain on Schweiz, you may send as many soldiers as you feel able."  
"Now Ludwig, it isn't fair that _you_ should suffer just because _somebody_ is a callous –"  
"Where's Lili?" asked Felicita as the thought struck her, at rather opportune time. The brunette looked around the room as if she only just noticed that the youngest member of the extended Germanic family wasn't present.

"She's in your library with her governess," replied Basch impatiently. "Now –"  
"About the numbers –"  
"I really think –"  
"Roderich, please –"  
"I just –"  
"_Be quiet_ –"

"Everybody _shut up_!" Lovina suddenly shouted, jumping up and banging her fists on the table, causing everything on it to rattle. She pointed an accusing finger at Ludwig. "This is all your fault, you bastard!" There was a collective gasp at the expletive. "You want us to get involved in your goddamned war? Did you even think about how this might affect us, you stupid potato? What if we don't want to get involved in your fights?" She put her hands on her hips. "If you hadn't called us here, those two idiots wouldn't be fighting like spoilt children and we wouldn't be going in circles like headless chickens!"

"Lovina, please –" Antonio reached out a hand to his wife but she slapped it away.  
"Don't touch me," she spat, before rounding on her sister. "_Why did you marry this bastard, Felicita_?" she asked in the thick, fast native dialect that her and her sister shared, making it harder for the other nobles to understand her (although they didn't need to understand her to get the gist of what she was saying). "_He's a stupid, uncivilised potato!_"  
"_Don't be cruel to Ludwig, big sister! He needs your help… we both need your help_," Felicita replied anxiously. "_There is no way we can win without support, and getting angry doesn't help_."

The sisters held each other's gazes for a few intense seconds before Lovina looked away, sighing angrily. "Fine," she said shortly, reverting to the universal dialect, sitting back down and crossing her arms. "But I'm not doing this for you, potato, I'm doing it for my sister," she clarified stubbornly, glaring at her brother-in-law.

"Well, now that… _that_ is over," said Elizabeta with a nervous chuckle, "why would Francis invade you for no reason, Ludwig?"  
"I truly don't know," shrugged the blond. "We haven't even spoken for years."  
"We need to talk about our army!" said Prince Gilbert loudly, standing up and throwing his arms out as if he was about to make a speech. "We need to talk about how we're going to destroy the invasion as if it were an insect we were crushing underneath our boot!"

Gilbert was the older brother of Ludwig. He'd given his parents a shock at his birth with his stark white hair, and when he had opened his eyes, the piercing red irises had put the servants on their knees in prayer that this child was a normal, healthy baby and not some changeling. The prayers were obviously answered as he grew into a spirited, active child. However, around the time of Ludwig's birth, when he was five years old, he became very ill. He lost much of his weight, his vibrant eyes dulled, and even walking put him out of breath. Nobody, not even the family physician, could say whether he would live or die.

After the sickness passed, his convalescence was hard. His tenth birthday had come and gone before he was back in peak health, and even twenty years on his immune system was still weak. But he more than made up for it with his brashness, his loud voice, and his talent for weaponry. He harboured no ill feeling towards his younger brother for being the chosen heir, brushing it off with a grin and the remark that he didn't want the responsibility of being King and that Ludwig was better suited for the task. Unfortunately, many found him loudmouthed, narcissistic and irritating – in fact, of those sitting at the table at that moment, only Felicita and Antonio could tolerate him for long periods of time.

"Before we talk about any 'crushing'," said Ludwig will a slight roll of his hard blue eyes, "does anyone know of anyone else who would be willing to support us?"  
"What about Marianna?" suggested Felicita, referring to her and Lovina's elder sister. She had inherited a small pocket of fertile farmland, and lived there perfectly happily as her own Lady.  
"But she's neutral…"  
"If _she_ gets to stay out of this, why don't you leave _me_ alone?" demanded Basch angrily, hands automatically reaching for one of the row of pistols he kept in his belt.  
"Because Schweiz is rich and industrial," replied Ludwig. "Marianna's land is primarily agricultural, and tiny. She wouldn't be useful in a war."  
"Don't insult our sister, you bastard!"

"I don't want to discuss anything more," said Basch shortly. The rest of the table looked at him in confusion, and he sighed irritably. "I am neutral in all military matters, I told you that when I became Lord of Schweiz!"  
When a babble of voices rose, Basch let out an furious exclamation and leapt to his feet.  
"I am not going to help you!" he roared. "I am neutral! And none of your whining and wheedling will change my principles!"  
He spun on the heel of his polished boot and stormed out, slamming the door behind him hard enough to shake the chandelier.

The room fell silent.

"We'll sent two thousand soldiers each, Ludwig," Elizabeta said, popping the bubble of quiet.  
"I'll send two thousand too," nodded Antonio, "but…" he lowered his voice conspiratorially, "do you mind if nobody outside of this room knows about it?"  
"Of course, of course…" agreed Ludwig, slightly confused but grateful all the same, especially after Basch's rather violent outburst.  
"This is boring," groaned Gilbert, stretching as if he had just gotten out of bed. "I'm going to write a letter to Madeline." He stood up, but Ludwig grabbed his arm.

"No, Gilbert, you mustn't!"  
"Why not?"  
"Think about it! The Britannic Kingdom will be on King Francis' side, which makes Madeline the enemy. You cannot write letters to Princess Madeline anymore."  
"W-What?" Gilbert raked his eyes over his brother's face, desperately hoping that Ludwig was not serious. "No! That is not awesome!" he shouted.  
"Brother, 'awesome' is not a proper word…"  
"It _is _a word! And I refuse to talk about this!" With a childish stamp of his foot, Gilbert marched from the room, and another silence settled.

"War does bring out the worst in people, doesn't it?" remarked Roderich.

* * *

Meanwhile, a small girl was sitting at a desk, surrounded by papers and books, listening intently to her governess, who was giving a lesson. Both jumped when Lord Basch stormed into the library.

"Big brother?" Lili frowned confusedly. "I thought you were meeting with –"  
"It doesn't matter," interrupted Basch. "Pack up your things, we're leaving as soon as possible."  
"But –"  
"I'll explain on the journey!"

* * *

In the Great Kingdom, King Arthur was about to have a similar meeting with his own advisors, although it would probably have much less shouting.  
"Amelia and Madeline, you must know," he was saying to his younger cousins, the twin blonde girls, "that we are officially at war with Deutschland and it's allies."

The girls were identical in stature – tall and curvy, with broad hips and dimples. Princess Amelia had fought long and hard before she was allowed to cut her hair into a shoulder-length hairstyle that curled only slightly, whereas Princess Madeline wore her tresses in long waves down her back. Both girls had the same shocked expression.  
"So I must order you to cease all contact you may have with any person on the enemy side," Arthur said regretfully, watching Madeline in particular – he knew that she enjoyed intimate letters with Prince Gilbert of Deutschland. The King watched as she frowned slightly, her white teeth chewing her lower lip, before nodding politely and turning away, striding smartly down the corridor and out of sight.  
"Wait, war?" Amelia still didn't quite understand. "As in, _war?_"  
"Yes, _war_."  
"That is… " The Western Britannic accent she had learnt from her various childhood nannies drew out her words in a manner that Arthur still didn't quite care for, despite the fact that the pair had lived with him for years now. "I can't believe it."  
"Nor can I, love, nor can I."

* * *

In her chamber, Madeline has hastily scribbling a letter, her eyes brimming with tears.

_My dearest Gilbert,_

_I have been instructed to stop writing to you. But you must know that my heart is very much saddened to think that this may be my last letter to you._

A tear splashed onto the paper and soaked in, smudging the wet ink.

_But promise me that this will not be the end of our friendship. We must find a way to remain together, even through this dreadful war._

_Yours most affectionately,_

_Madeline_

A few more tears dripped onto the page before the heartbroken princess had sprayed some perfume onto the letter and sealed it in an envelope.

* * *

That night, Madeline crept out into the chilly courtyard. It was a cloudy night, the moon obscured behind grey-black clouds. Only the faintest of stars glinted in the night sky. Burning torches lined the stone walls of the castle, and a uniformed guard stood solidly at the gates.  
"Sir!" she whispered loudly, trying to attract the attention of the guard. He turned and saw her, clad in her thin robe and nightgown.  
"My Lady, what are you doing?" he whispered incredulously, approaching her nervously.  
"I need you to do me an enormous favour…"  
"Anything, my Lady."  
She held out a small envelope.  
"I need you to deliver this to Prince Gilbert."

The guard raised an eyebrow. "We're at war with him now, my Lady."  
"I know," she said quietly. "But please, I beg of you."  
Her blue-violet eyes welled up, and the guard felt a surge of pity.  
"Alright, my Lady," he relented, taking the envelope and pocketing it. "Do you need me to do anything else?"  
"Oh, that is more than enough!" A few tears slid down her pale cheeks, but she wiped them away with an elated smile. "Thank you, thank you so much!"

She hurried back inside, her long golden curls flying behind her, and the guard watched with a small smile – how awful it must be, for your love to be your enemy in a war.

* * *

_September_

Felicja shifted uncomfortably. She was hiding in the huge dresser that stood along one of the walls of her and Toris' bedchamber, peering through the slats in the dark wood door. It was dark, cramped and claustrophobic, but Felicja was determined to carry out her plan.

As for why she was hiding in a cupboard: she was sick and tired of her husband's secrecy, and this was the only way to uncover it. Toris was about to take a bath – the bathtub was already set out in the centre of the room not ten feet from her hiding place, and soon the servants would arrive to start filling it. Felicja turned her head, trying to soothe the crick that was already forming, but in her mind she stayed strong. If she was to find out what was wrong with Toris, this was the only way to do it.

When the servants entered with great pans of hot water, Felicja froze. If she was discovered now, she would never find out why Toris hid behind the screen to change – plus, the servants would think her completely mad.

Once the tub was full and steaming, Toris entered the room. Felicja smiled as she saw him; he looked handsome, as always, but there was a sorrow in his eyes that she had never noticed before. The servants set up the screen for him, bowed, and went for more water. Felicja nodded confidently to herself – the screen was angled so that when her husband went behind it, she would be able to see everything. As Toris slipped behind the screen, humming to himself, Felicja held her breath. He slowly drew the shirt over his head… and Felicja choked on her own breath.

Mottled scars criss-crossed Toris' back, thick and thin, torn into his skin with what looked like a whip.

Luckily, he hadn't heard her over the rustling of his clothing. He stripped his trousers and undergarments before stepping into the bath and leaning back into the warm oblivion. Meanwhile, Felicja was breathing harder and harder, her initial shock replaced with rage.

She's had more than her fair share of abuse from her nasty stepmother – as a child she'd been regularly scolded, smacked, spanked and starved by the vicious woman. But these scars were _much_ worse. They were fresher than the pale grey lines of Felicja's legs where beatings had drawn blood fifteen years ago. These scars couldn't be more than two months old. And that was around the time that Toris had requested a screen put up in their chamber.

Felicja's anger built up further and further until she finally broke and flung the door of her hiding place open, stumbling out. She collided with the screen and set it tumbling to the ground with a crash.

Toris' shock reflex sent water splashing over the side of the tub. When his eyes focused on the figure at the foot of the bath, face red and breathing hard, his expression went from shock to confusion and anger.

"_Felicja?_"  
"Who did that to you, Liet?" she demanded.  
"Why were you hiding in there?" shouted Toris, his face contorted with fury. "That was sneaky, Felicja, and you had no right!"  
Suddenly her face crumpled, and she covered her rosebud mouth with her hands, openly sobbing.  
"You're hurt!" she bawled, tears streaming down her darkly flushed cheeks. "I – I – I – why –" The rest of her words were drowned in a long wail.

Toris suddenly felt guilty for shouting at her. It was the first secret he had kept from her, and she was curious by nature. It wasn't her fault. But now, he realised, a cold pit settling in his stomach, he would have to tell her how the scars had appeared.

When the two servants re-entered the room, imagine their surprise when they found their mistress weeping, leaning against the bathtub while their master stroked her hair, still sitting in the rapidly cooling water.  
"I will kill him," sobbed Felicja angrily. "I am totally going to kill that disgusting excuse for a human being!"  
"It's alright dear, just release your anger," replied Toris soothingly. Then he caught sight of the shocked servants. "Oh, thank you," he nodded (he was the politest noble in the castle, and thanked everyone in a most unusual fashion). "You can leave the towels here, but please can you remove the screen?"  
His expression was of both relief and sadness. The servants understood now that the mistress must have found out about the scars – they were the ones attending Toris while he bathed in secret. They hurriedly packed up the screen and left the couple to resolve their problems.

"When did this happen?" croaked Felicja. Her eyes were dry now, but pink and puffy, and her face was still flushed.  
Toris sighed as he stepped out of the bath and dried himself off, reaching for his nightshirt.  
"Do you remember when you went to visit Felicita and Ludwig? And you stayed for two weeks?"  
Felicja looked so completely miserable, it broke Toris' heart. "We need to leave, Liet. We need to break away from that insane bastard."  
"Felicja!" Toris looked around the room, as if terrified that a spy was hiding in the shadows. "You can't say things like that! It's treason," he hissed.

"We could survive by ourselves," mumbled Felicja, ignoring her husband. "We could live in your house in Lietuva. Baltija could totally support itself."  
"Felicja, we aren't going to leave Ivan," said Toris gently, cupping her cheek.  
"Why not?" Her fire was returning, and she looked Toris in the eye. "What he has done is unforgivable to me, Liet. We have to leave."  
The thought was worming it's way into the brunet lord's head: a peaceful life, outside of this cold, cruel castle, a life for himself and Felicja and perhaps, in time, a family. But…

"We have to take Eduard and Raisa with us," he blurted. Felicja inclined her head curiously. "I mean, _if_ we leave… we have to take them…"

Eduard and Raisa were Toris' dear cousins. Even though he was related just as closely to Ivan as he was to them – they all shared great-grandparents – they were truly more like brother and sister to him.

Felicja's eyes lit up with excitement and happiness.  
"You're agreeing!" Before Toris could say anything, Felicja threw her arms around his neck, and leapt with such force that he had to swing her in a circle to prevent from falling. She kissed him sweetly before turning on the heel of her shoe and skipping out of the room. Toris watched her leave, wondering if this vision and the reality that followed it would last.

* * *

"So, we would like, split our year between Polska and Lietuva, while Eduard and Raisa would have their own houses."  
The couple sat in Toris' study late that night. Felicja was gripped with a fevered madness to escape, to leave, to break away, and Toris was struggling to keep up.  
"Although personally I think they might live together." Felicja raised an eyebrow knowingly at her husband.  
"What?"  
"You know… they might _marry_."  
"…Eduard and Raisa? _No_."  
"You've seen them, Liet!"  
"Eduard took it upon himself to protect her when her parents died, I did the same!"  
"But you don't treat her the way Eduard does…"

"How will we make sure Ivan doesn't take the land back?" Toris asked in the businesslike tone he used for when he was actually in a position of control, switching the subject.  
"Double the guards around our castles, and throw every Cold citizen back into the Long-Winter Kingdom."  
"Ruthless, Felicja?" Toris raised an eyebrow back at his wife.  
"It has to be done." Felicja slid off her chair and into the lap of her husband, stroking his smooth cheeks with her thumbs. "We will tell Ivan that we're leaving as soon as he returns."  
"Not the full plan, just that we're going to stay in Lietuva for six months," Toris said quickly, threading his arms around the blonde woman's waist, squeezing her amply curved form into his own.  
"Of course," Felicja dismissed. "Now, Liet…" Her voice dropped seductively, "since you've been hiding for so long…"  
Toris chuckled and met her halfway in a passionate kiss.

* * *

In times of sunshine, the castle gardens of the Kingdom of Fire and Ice were lovely. The flowers were planted in elegant designs, the trees were trimmed flawlessly, and the grasses and hedges were immaculately kept. In the centre of this perfection was a white gazebo where the Royal Family itself took tea on the warmest days.

This was such a day. King Mathias was avidly telling a story while Queen Ingrid, King Berwald and Queen Kristiina listened politely, sipping tea and eating small sandwiches. Prince Freyr was no doubt on his way over from the Royal Menagerie, where he spent time with his pet puffin every now and again.

This was a land untouched and ignorant of the war in session just outside it's borders.

" – and that was when _I_ said –"  
"Does this story have an ending, Mathias?" interrupted Ingrid, who had little patience for her husband's ramblings.  
"Of course!"  
"Then I suggest that you cut this _ridiculously_ long story short and _skip to it_."

Berwald chuckled quietly at his sister-in-law's bluntness.

"As you wish, my love," grinned Mathias. "In other words, I am a highly competent and talented king."

There was a short silence, before Kristiina let out an infectious giggle, which soon spread to Berwald and Mathias. Ingrid rolled her eyes.

"We don't spend enough time together as a family," Mathias said, wrapping an arm around Ingrid. "This is so nice, we should do it more often!"  
"S'me 'f us have to _work_," retorted Berwald.  
"We should do this every Sunday," continued the spiky-haired king obliviously. "Us four and Freyr. And our children," he added with a grin, giving Ingrid's flat stomach a quick caress before his hand was slapped away.  
"A child would be a lovely addition to the household," said Kristiina happily. "The kingdom has been stable and prosperous for a good few years. I can't think of a better time!"

Before Berwald could give a heavily blushing, mumbled response, Freyr appeared. He slipped into the one remaining chair under the gazebo and placed a bundle of letters onto the table.  
"A courtier gave me these," he said shortly, gesturing to the battered letters. "We haven't had any letters for a while, have we?"

A slightly ominous atmosphere settled on the family, mixed with mystery. They stared at the pack of letters, everybody curious but nobody quite wanting to take the plunge and open a letter. Freyr broke the ice by taking the bundle and breaking the string holding the envelopes together.

"One for Kristiina," he said, dropping the first letter on the table in front of the shortest member of his family. "One for Mathias,_ three_ for Mathias and Berwald – " he gave the three most official looking letters to Berwald, Mathias being too busy ripping open his personal letter, " – and two for me."

Ingrid took one of her younger brother's letters and, ignoring his cry of protest, opened it and scanned it.

"Your friend was dreadful handwriting," he remarked before Freyr snatched the letter back.  
"Xiang's alphabet is completely different to ours," he snapped, before opening his other letter and frowning when he read the date at the top of the page.

"This letter is nearly a month old!" Odd – post from the Great Kingdom never took more than a few days to arrive.  
"Who's't from?" asked Berwald, staring grimly at the letter in his own hands.  
"Lady Lili Zwingli." The two young nobles had met the previous winter and had exchanged letters every since.  
"Oh my…" Kristiina was reading her letter with an aghast expression.  
"What's happened?" asked Freyr, mind jumping immediately to the worst conclusion he could think of at that moment: something had happened to Lili. Even Mathias was subdued, which was unusual for him.

"War's been d'clared 'n the Great Kingdom," said Berwald in a low voice. "I've got the official d'claration fr'm King Francis, 'nother letter fr'm Francis asking for support, 'n' a letter fr'm King Ludwig, also asking for support."

"A war? Between who?" Freyr was shocked. Everything had seemed to be in such harmony these past weeks. How could a war have started without any of them realizing?

"Seems Francis invaded Deutschland. This letter's three weeks 'ld."  
"My letter from Eduard is dated from two weeks ago," said Kristiina sadly. "The war must be affecting the post even in the Long Winter Kingdom."  
Her letter was from her close childhood friend, Eduard von Bock, who was a lord and cousin of King Ivan of the Long-Winter Kingdom. They kept in touch even though they lived many miles apart and seldom saw each other.

"The post is always slow from the Cold," commented Ingrid drily. "The war has nothing to with it."

"Lars is supporting Francis!" Mathias exclaimed. "Him and Arthur are the only ones who are!"  
"Who is Lars?" asked Freyr, racking his brain for a face to match the name.  
"Lord Lars van Dijk, you met him at mine and Ingrid's wedding!"

"You were terrified of him," smiled Kristiina fondly. "I was too, actually…" she shuddered briefly before continuing, "you liked his sister though, Lady Bella? She was ever so sweet and very good with children."

"He's tall w'th a scar'n'is for'head 'n he spikes 's hair up," Berwald summarised.  
"Oh, I remember him now." Freyr recalled a giant, scowling, intimidating man who looked like he was about to eat Freyr in one gulp. That was probably his seven-year-old vision distorting his memory though.

"Lars wants us to help him," Mathias said.  
"We're neutral," replied Berwald sternly.  
"But Lars is an old friend!"  
"Th's land is pr'spering b'cause we've steered clear of disputes. Don't r'sk the f'tures of our people for a war we've nothing t'do with."  
"Supporting you friends is what loyalty is, Berwald! But you wouldn't know what that is, would you?" snapped Mathias rudely.  
"Mathias, that's unfair –" Kristiina began, before she was cut off with, "Of course you would take his side, wouldn't you? You're just his faithful little wife!"

"Mathias!" Ingrid's sharp tone sliced through the air. "Stop acting like a spoilt child. This is a matter for the council. There is no need to insult your brother or sister-in-law, so stop looking for a fight."

Mathias leant back, face red, and settled for glaring at his brother, who held the angry gaze with cold turquoise eyes. Ingrid watched the silent battle with disinterest. Kristiina shifted uncomfortably.

"We have no need to join the war," said Freyr suddenly. All eyes turned to him, and he swallowed nervously. "We fight enough among ourselves as it is."

There was a silence, and Freyr looked down at his lap, reddening with embarrassment.

"Tha'was funny," stated Berwald slowly. And that was all it took for everyone else to start laughing.

* * *

_He couldn't quite remember when he had changed. It had been fast, though._

_He had ordered all his fashionable, effeminate garments to be gotten rid of, and replaced with hardier clothes – plain shirts, trousers with braces, simple waistcoats._

_His mother hadn't said anything. His father had seemed pleased – Francis imagined that King Rodel had been more than happy to get rid of his 'useless' son and have a new one._

_Had it been after the end of the Autumn War? New Year?_

_Yes, yes it had._

_But what had caused it?_

* * *

**This is closer to the length of the rest of the chapters. Reviews are appreciated!**


	4. Escape

**My new fanfic resolution - update when I say I will. I'm sticking to it so far. I hope you guys like the chapter~ It's shorter than the previous one, and focuses pretty much solely on the Long-Winter Kingdom and the odd dynamics of the relationship between King Ivan, his sisters and his cousins.**

**I'm on a Duke of Edinburgh expedition this weekend, which accounts for shorter chapter length and earlier upload.**

* * *

Chapter Three: Escape

_verb_

_to __slip __or __get __away,__as f__rom __confinement __or __restraint; __gain __or __regain liberty,  
__to __slip __away __from __pursuit __or __peril; __avoid __capture, __punishment, __or __any __threatened __evil_

* * *

_September_

"Toris!"  
It had been one week since Felicja and Toris had hatched their plan. It was now the morning of their departure to Lietuva – and King Ivan was fighting them every step of the way.  
"Good morning, your Majesty," smiled Toris nervously. He was standing in the entrance hall of the Crystal Castle, named after the beautiful icicles that clung to it every winter, Ivan's home. Behind him, servants were loading his and Felicja's luggage into their carriage.

"Are you sure you have to go?" asked Ivan. His voice had taken on a childish quality, as if he were a boy whose nurse had taken away his favourite toy.  
"Quite sure, your Majesty."  
"You haven't stayed with me for very long…"  
"We have been here for like, a year and a half, Ivan," Felicja interjected, stepping forwards to stand between her husband and the King. She was the only one, aside from Princess Natalya, who was unafraid of the intimidating King. "We promised you six months a year! But you have ordered us back from Lietuva early for two years, and forbade us to go last year. So we are going now and we'll be back after in the spring."

"How dare you speak to your King in that manner!"  
"Natalya," smiled Toris weakly.

The young princess scowled at her cousin. She was sixteen years old, thin and pale, with an angular face and cold eyes. She was _unbalanced_, everyone knew – at best, she was protective of Ivan, but at worst, she threw herself at him, screaming about marriage.

"_Perfect_, Natalya, take your dear brother away, me and Liet are leaving now." Felicja grabbed Toris' arm and steered him towards the door.  
"Toris, I wasn't finished talking –"  
"Yes you were," interrupted Natalya, wrapping herself around Ivan's arm. "Come, big brother, eat breakfast with me."

"Felicja, that was a bit rude," mumbled Toris once they were finally on their way.  
"It was the only way!"  
"I know." Toris put an arm around his wife, and she snuggled up to him, laying her head on his shoulder. All was quiet and blissful – this was the way it was supposed to be.

Lord Eduard all but crept into the dining room, once he was sure that Princess Natalya had finished (alone, he might add, since Ivan had refused to eat with her). She was the most terrifying woman he had ever met – how did Toris have the strength to be kind to her? Especially after the time she had broken his fingers!

He sat down as was about to tuck into his breakfast, now lukewarm, when he noticed that there was another plate next to his that was similarly untouched. Toris and Felicja had eaten early, as had Ivan and Yekaterina, and Natalya had just finished. So the plate must belong to…

"Andrei," called Eduard to the footman standing by the door, beckoning him over.  
"Yes, my lord?"  
"Has the Lady Raisa eaten breakfast?"  
"No, my lord, she has not come downstairs yet."  
"Hm." Eduard was worried. Raisa never usually slept so late. "Send somebody to fetch her, I don't want her to go hungry."

Andrei bowed and hurried off, leaving Eduard to pick at his meal and examine his thoughts. He loved Raisa as a sister, didn't he? That was why he was always worried about her. The fact that she was little older than a debutante and alone in the world aside from him and Toris, they were perfectly sound reasons to want to keep her at his side at all times.

Raisa ran into the room ten minutes later. She was wearing a maroon gown with gold trimmings that looked good on her, but it's layers didn't hide her childlike body. Her boots were expensive and warm, but they didn't add to her tiny stature. The rags she wound into her hair each night to try and form fashionable ringlets only made her locks wildly curly. But Eduard didn't notice any of these things – all he could see is how upset she looked.

"Raisa! What's the matter?" Eduard jumped up.  
"I – I think T-T-Toris is l-l-l-leaving!" she stuttered, trembling, her hands twitching anxiously. Eduard breathed a sigh of relief – he thought she'd been in trouble.  
"Of course Toris is leaving," he said gently, pushing her lightly into the chair beside him before sitting down himself. "Him and Felicja are spending their time in Lietuva, like they do every year."  
"N-n-n-no, you don't underst-stand," she whispered. "They want to r-r-run away to B-Baltija and never return!" Before Eduard could ask her anything, she continued, "I heard them talking… in Toris' study, a few d-d-days ago, they said they w-w-were going to b-break away…"

"But why?" pressed Eduard sharply, trying to make sense of it all.  
"I don't know!" she squeaked, edging back in her chair. Eduard cursed himself; he had frightened her, he should have remembered that she didn't like raised voices!  
"I'm sorry, sorry," he said softly. "I'm just trying to understand why they would leave."  
"They want us t-t-to go with them!" Suddenly she looked desperate, and she gripped the front of his shirt, leaning forward in her chair. "They want us to leave, so we must!"

It was true that Ivan was the master of guilt-tripping, manipulation and intimidation. It was true that he used Eduard mercilessly for Eesti's resources. And it was the unfortunate truth that being around him and his horrible sister had made Raisa the nervous wreck that she was. But Eduard couldn't help feel a sense of… not _loyalty_, as such, but that if they left him, deep down maybe Ivan would miss them, not for they money or land but for their _company_.

But if Raisa wanted it this badly, and he could tell by the look in her eyes that she did, there was only one answer.

"Alright. I'll contact them as soon as I can."

Raisa took a deep breath, moved her hands from Eduard's chest and instead wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close enough to kiss his lips. Her mouth lingered over his for a few seconds before she pulled back and blushed scarlet, her eyes not leaving his. Eduard blinked, his brain not having caught up with his senses yet. Raisa had kissed him in a far more intimate way than was expected of siblings. Raisa had kissed him intimately. Raisa had kissed him. _Raisa_.

Suddenly Eduard realised that he had pulled Raisa back and that they were kissing again. He knew it now, these feelings he'd had for Raisa had been far more than familial.

Unknown to the embracing couple, Andrei stood in the doorway, eyes wide. Of course, he had expected something like this to happen at some point, and he wouldn't tell anyone. But he worried that somehow King Ivan would find out. And that would be messy for everyone involved.

* * *

"_O-o-oh, sister mine, my fate is set,  
But I'll be back from the war soon, so don't you fret_."

A child's song echoed through the chilly hallways of the Crystal Castle. The source of the tune was a dusty, nearly abandoned drawing room containing nothing but a chess table and a cracked, aged armchair.

Princess Natalya sat in this chair. One of her pale, bony hands rested on the white queen of the chess set. Her eyes, as cold and empty as the hall outside the room, bore into the array of pieces, which were arranged on the board in a complex game. Natalya played alone. She always played alone.

"_So take care of Father, and Mother for me,  
I'll be back in no time at all, just wait and see_."

She didn't know why she started singing, only that the moment it escaped her thin lips, it was as if ten years had melted away. She was six years old once more – her gown was now the knee-length dress of a little girl, and her petite feet, clad in fur-lined boots, scarcely brushed the stone floor. Her ashy-blonde hair had lightened to ivory, and was loose around her skinny shoulders. She sat in the same position, waiting. Every day, she waited for the faraway sound that would set the rest of her afternoon in motion.

There it was, the distant slam of a study door, and the footsteps that always followed. Natalya slid from the chair (now in better condition) and ran from the room, sprinting along dim corridors and down a flight of stairs, her determined feet tapping ferociously. She skidded to a halt when she saw the object of her frenzied search: her father.

He was a tall, hulking figure. His soft, beige-blond hair contrasted sharply with his granite jaw and stone eyes. But it was his tough leather boots, laced tightly to his knees, that Natalya always noticed as she flew at him, wrapping her spindly arms around his waist and pressing her face into his plush coat.

"Papa!" she cried, in a façade of excitement. For deep down, it was the _attention _she craved, not him personally. The then-King looked down to survey her with distaste. No fatherly affection for her lurked in those eyes, so ironically similar to her own.

"Papa, come and see my chess set," Natalya said imploringly. The King tried to shake her off, but her bird-like body held surprising strength.  
"I must see Ivan, I have no time for you," he said harshly. He stepped in the direction of the nursery wing, where Ivan and Yekaterina were no doubt having their lessons. Natalya should have been with them, but she slipped away early every day and the King didn't care when the governesses complained.

"Ivan can come too," said the little princess desperately, clinging to her father for all she was worth. "Then you can see both of us, _please_ Papa."  
The King smiled maliciously and knelt so that he was eye to eye with the child he hardly acknowledged and cared for even less.

"You are a clever girl, are you not?"  
Natalya held his gaze, rather bravely considered that his eyes were full of spite, and nodded.  
"Not like your fool of a sister, Katyusha. You could beat her in any test of intelligence I'm sure, even though she is six years your elder." The King leant forward, and Natalya could feel his breath on her face. "But at least Katyusha is _likeable_."

He paused here to let the meaning of his words sink into his child's mind.

"You are _unlikeable_. Nobody likes you, and nobody ever will. In fact, the only boy to ever love you will be your own brother. But once you're both grown and he sees you for what you truly are –" he laughed cruelly, " – you'll have to _marry_ him to keep him beside you!"

With that, he swept off down the hall, leaving his stunned child silent in his wake.

Natalya jolted out of the memory, breathing heavily. She had no reason to remember that, she snapped at herself. It was in the past. It was the future now, and all that mattered was Ivan._ Nobody likes you, and nobody ever will._ As long as she had Ivan, her horrible father would never be right.

* * *

Raisa jolted awake. She frantically reached out to the other side of her bed, but there was nobody there. It had been a dream. Shuddering, she wrapped her arms around herself. Her stomach tingled, and her heart was beating fast. How could she have dreamt something so… vulgar? How could she have dreamt how a touch, feather light and blooming across her skin, could feel? How could she have dreamt what Eduard's voice would sound like as it whispered sweet nothings into her ear?

Burying her face in her pillow, Raisa let a tear slip out from underneath her eyelid. She wouldn't be able to go to Eduard now – it was the middle of the night, he was no doubt asleep, and besides, she hadn't been allowed to share a chamber with him since she was five years old. She was eighteen now, and he was twenty-two. It wasn't _proper_.

But how she wished it could be so.

* * *

Natalya was falling. For everyone else, it seemed that 'falling asleep' was a figure of speech, but not for her. No, she felt as though she was slowly free-falling, arms and legs thrown out and hair whipping around her face. She always dreamt in black and white, and her visions were generally repetitive.

Some nights she was running around the castle, trying to find Ivan. She would see a flash of his hair, or his coat, and charge at it, only to find nothing.

On others, she was breaking Toris' fingers again, but it would be different that it had been in real life. _Snap_. No emotion - he was straight-faced and empty-eyed. _Snap_. Not a flinch. _Snap snap snap snap snap snap_, still nothing.

Sometimes she was lying on the ground, underneath a blanket of snow, with a pillow of ice. Everywhere around her was white, white, white. Blank. Numb.

Other times, she was in a room, with walls covered in mirrors. Nothing was frightening though, because she knew what she was going to see: her reflection. Nothing more that a cold, expressionless little girl who was, inside her head, desperately looking for an escape.

* * *

_After his phase of extreme militancy, his old self trickled back like water through cracks in a dam._

_He had been sitting in the morning room, with both his parents and his sister. It was a rare day when his father wasn't too busy to eat breakfast with them, let alone spend time actually talking with his family. There they sat, the Queen sewing, Emilie playing the piano, and the King and Francis talking about matters of state, when two servants entered._

_They had to have been brother and sister, perhaps even twins, and they were both beautiful. They shared delicate faces, long eyelashes, with auburn curls and wide blue eyes. The sister poured the tea while the brother held the tray for her._

_They were both so attractive. Both twins. Both genders._

_After they left, the King grinned at him.  
"My boy is becoming a man," he said cheekily, thumping him on the back proudly. _

_He must have thought Francis was looking only at the female servant._

* * *

**Review please :3**


	5. Downturn

**Chapter 4~! I'm getting good reception on this. I'm so glad you guys are liking it. I've written up to Chapter 7 and exams are proven to spike my creativity - did you know that I started writing Waiting and Updating during the end-of-year exams last year? No? Well, I wrote four chapters in one week! - so if all's good then you won't be left waiting for chapters.**

**I've noticed that in fact, Chapter 2 was an oddity. Most chapters will be around this length, while Chapter 2 was a monster. Sorry if that disappoints anybody.**

**And I have more bad news: due to upcoming exams and Duke of Edinburgh expeditions, I may or may not being uploading new chapters in the next three weeks or so. All I'll say is that you'll be lucky to get 2 out of the 3 chapters I promised ;u;**

* * *

Chapter Four: Downturn

_noun_

_a drop or reduction in success_

* * *

_October_

In a picturesque castle tucked away in the neat, green land of Nederland, Lord Lars and Lady Bella van Dijk were eating breakfast. Bella was chatting nineteen to the dozen in her usual fashion, and Lars was listening, saying a few words here and there. Every few minutes, he could cough into his handkerchief, a stubborn, hacking cough.

" – and now with this dreadful war business, we won't be able to visit Antonio and Lovina until it's over, although I suppose it won't be too long until one side gives in, maybe by New Year we'll be able to –" Bella was interrupted by her brother's coughing, but this time is was more chesty, and disconcertingly _wet_ sounding. "Oh dear, you've had that cough for a while now," she said worriedly. "Since August, I think? After you swam in that freezing lake!"  
"It was the height of summer, the lake was supposed to be warm," Lars grumbled, glancing down at his handkerchief. His face paled to a chalky grey, and he swallowed, Adam's apple quivering.

"Lars?" Bella asked anxiously, instantly on edge. She could count on one hand the times she'd seen him look like that, in all of her twenty-six years.  
"Fetch Dr. Smit," he said quietly.  
"What's –"  
"Just fetch Dr. Smit!" Lars snapped, gesturing at the door angrily.  
"Alright!" Bella stood up and left the room, calling a maid to send for the family doctor.

Lars just sat, frozen, staring at his handkerchief, now splattered with blood.

Half an hour later, Bella was sitting outside Lars' chamber while Dr. Smit examined her brother. Finally, he came out into the hall, and Bella jumped up.  
"What's wrong with him, Doctor?" she asked anxiously.

Nicolas Smit was young for a physician, around the same age as Lars. His family and theirs were very close – his grandfather had been the first family physician, and his own parents had been the midwife and doctor who delivered both Lars and Bella herself. He had warm hazel eyes, strong eyebrows, and his hair was dark and heavy.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you exactly," he admitted, "only that there is some fluid in your brother's lungs. I cannot tell whether it is phlegm or blood."  
Bella gasped, covering her mouth with her hands.  
"He tells me that his joints have been aching, and that he's been very tired of late. Other than that, I can't diagnose anything. So all I can prescribe is rest."  
"Can I visit him?"  
"Of course, he can't be contagious – you said he's had the cough for two months now. I'll be back within a week or so, to check his progress."  
"He will survive, though?" Bella was aware that the pitch of her voice had risen to a frightened squeak.  
"I'm afraid we have no way of knowing at this moment." Smit picked up his bag. "He is to do no strenuous exercise at all – no riding, hunting, nothing, and make sure that you lessen his workload."  
"Of course." Bella sniffled, uncomfortably aware that her nose was running unattractively. Smit kissed her hand, gave her a sympathetic smile, and left. Once he was gone, Bella flew into her brother's room. Lars was hunched over his desk in the corner of the room, filling out paperwork.

"Lars! Get into bed!"  
"But I need to –"  
"You're ill, leave the papers!" Bella flapped around her brother, handing him his nightshirt, plumping his pillows, and lighting a fire. "You will not do any work until you are completely recovered," she ordered.  
"That's impossible, we're at war." Lars emerged from behind the screen and sat on his bed.  
"Not directly! Tell Francis to do his own paperwork." Bella pulled the covers over Lars.  
"You know he will have even more than me," sighed Lars, "and stop fussing, woman! I can't go to sleep in the middle of the day! I have work to do!"  
"You can and you will go to sleep. Leave the work."  
"Then help me with it." Lars couldn't deny he was getting drowsy – he had been feeling tired when he woke up and bone-crushingly exhausted when he went to sleep every day for the past few weeks. "I'll dictate, you write it down. Also… write a letter to Francis and tell him… that I'm ill…"

Bella shuffled through the stacks on papers on his desk, but once she found a blank piece of notepaper to write to Francis, Lars was already asleep.

* * *

"Any news from the war front?" Francis sat on a couch in the morning room, reading a broadsheet newspaper while his younger sister Emilie embroidered demurely in her armchair by the window.

Marie Emilie was twenty-one, and on paper she was a perfect young lady: she had long, shiny hair, sapphire blue eyes that she shared with her older brother, and she was talented at stitching and dancing. However, with her entirely serious disposition, sharp wit that she _also _shared with Francis, and her pride, she came off to many potential suitors as _formidable_ – they almost felt _threatened_ by her. So Emilie was still a maiden. And since her time was entirely her own, she didn't mind.

"Francis!" The King snapped out of his reverie. He realised he had been staring dreamily at the edge of the paper for the last few minutes, running his hands through his hair and over his forehead, and that Emilie had asked him something.  
"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"Why do you always do that?" Emilie tapped her temple. "Whenever you think about the war, you always run your hands all over your forehead, especially around that scar. Why?"  
"I don't know." Francis fingered the small scar, just below his hairline. It was about a centimetre long, and hardly had any width, yet was oddly deep. "I can't even remember where I got it, actually," he mused.

"It's a shame about Lars," said Emilie, watching her brother closely. Francis felt that sometimes he felt like his sister was testing him, by making comments like that.  
"Indeed. I hope he gets better soon."  
"It's quite the inconvenience, I'm sure, to have an ally fall sick at such an important time."  
"You insult me, dear," replied Francis, in a mock-wounded tone. "I care about Lars as a _person_, not just as an ally."

"Anyway, I _asked_ if there was any news from the war front." Emilie relaxed a little, her examination over.

"Of course." Francis flicked back through the paper. "'France has regained control of the northwestern region of the Alleman lands'." His mouth closed, but his eyes continued to travel down the page.  
"Continue," said Emilie sharply, seeing through Francis' attempt to conceal the full story.  
"'However this was achieved only by heavy casualties, and the rest of the Alleman Lands are still under Deutsch control. There are reports of both armies digging trenches along the borders of France and Deutschland, and of battles being greatly lengthened due to this'."

* * *

"Trenches?"  
"Yes sire, the soldiers have been digging themselves into the ground, in order to hold the land." Ludwig's Head of Council stood before him.

"Well, isn't that is a clever tactic?" asked Ludwig. "The army will be protected from gunfire, and they will have a safe place to plan their attacks – won't that lessen the number of casualties?"  
"I'm afraid not. With the new development of poison gas, heavy artillery and bombs, the Deutsch army won't be as protected as it would seem. The trenches may be safe sometimes, but they are effectively traps when it comes to ambushes, and disease can spread like wildfire in such conditions." The Head bowed solemnly. "I'm afraid this is not a good turn of events."

"Oh dear."  
Ludwig looked over to the other end of the table, where Gilbert was fiddling with his fountain pen and paying absolutely no attention. He had spent the first few weeks of the war in a sulk, hardly eating and talking only to complain about being unable to write to Madeline. But suddenly he had cheered up, and become the usual Gilbert again – although he never spoke of Madeline at all. Was it possible he had forgotten her? Ludwig would never have thought so. But the reality said otherwise…

"Gilbert, what do you think we should do?" Ludwig asked, hoping to bring his brother to attention.  
"I think the army should concentrate on building _really awesome_ trenches, deep and reinforced with wood, with a complex network of tunnels that will allow an escape route at all times."  
So, even when Gilbert _appeared_ not to be paying attention, he was.

"Do you not think we should concentrate on fighting?" Ludwig was openly trying to catch his brother out now, irritated at Gilbert's apparent lack of care for the war they were tied up in.  
"Better trenches will pay off in the long run!" Gilbert looked up, and red eyes met blue. He stood up, dropped his pen onto the table with a clatter, and made for the door. "Don't take your frustration out on me, little brother," he whispered as he passed Ludwig.

"What do you want to do, sire?" the Head asked once they heard Gilbert climbing the stairs. Ludwig looked back from the door. The short, grey, balding man, old-fashioned and patronising, looked back at him expectantly.  
"Do what Gilbert said," sighed Ludwig, before admitting, "it is a good idea."

* * *

_Dear Madeline,_

Gilbert chuckled his strange, hissing laugh to himself. How much enjoyment he got from writing these illicit letters!

_My brother has been very stressed recently – it's not awesome at all! This war needs to hurry itself along and finish before he has a funny turn!_

Madeline always like his humour, so he had to put in lots, especially as she seemed even more anxious now that they had to write in secret.

_Felli on the other hand has been her usual self. I know she's unhappy that Ludwig doesn't spend so much time with her these days, but she has an awesome attitude, she's being very sweet about it. Not as sweet as you, of course!_

He prattled on for a while, about general news, before finishing with:

_I hope that the war ends soon. Have you heard about the trenches? They say that it is 'not a good turn of events'._

_I want to see you!_

As soon as his pen was off the paper, Gilbert wondered if he would regret writing that last sentence, before realising that if he crossed it out he would have to write the whole letter out again, and he really couldn't be bothered to do that.

_With affection,_

_Gilbert_

He signed with a flourish, slipped it into an envelope and set it on his desk. He would send it the next morning. The prince leant back in his chair, and picked up an older letter from Madeline, rereading it, admiring her beautiful handwriting, before bringing it close to his face and breathing deeply, inhaling the scent of her perfume, taking him back to the night of the ball where he had met her and those moments where he had held her.

* * *

"Has he improved?" asked Bella worriedly, grasping Dr. Smit's sleeve. He shook he head sadly.  
"Unfortunately, no. All of his symptoms are the same as last week, although there seems to be more phlegm in his chest. I would advise heaving him inhale steam to loosen it."  
"Is there anything else I can do?"  
"All this worry about the war is hindering his progress – he tells me he cannot sleep well. Is it possible to cut out all of his paperwork?  
"I already asked him," replied Bella dolefully, "but he said it was impossible."  
"Why don't you do it for him?" suggested the doctor.

"Me?"  
"You are a clever woman, and you often help Lord Lars. Why not do it on your own?"  
"I don't know, I have never… thought about it." Bella could see Dr. Smit's point, but these modern times they lived in were scarcely beginning! In the times of her parents and grandparents, women were expected to be _accessories_. Of course, it would pull Nederland fully into the modern era… but could she get away with it?

"I'll be back next week. I would decide quickly, if I were you, my lady."

* * *

_November_

It was Raisa's nineteenth birthday, and one of the most uncomfortable dinners she had ever sat through.

On her right hand was Ivan, brooding quietly. Beside him was Yekaterina, who offered some hopeful comment every so often but was greeted only by awkward silence. On her left was Eduard, focusing solely on his food – but at least he smiled at Raisa every time he caught her looking at him. Beside him was Natalya, who was glaring frightfully. The sense of calm before the storm was so strong that Raisa could hardly swallow her food. It was her favourite meal, because even though Ivan was scary, he was always kind to his cousins on their birthdays.

The dining room was silent apart from the faint clinking of cutlery on plates. The air was thick and tense.  
"Vanya, what is wrong?" Katyusha asked suddenly. She sounded so sad that the rest of the table was instantly waiting for Ivan's reply. "It is Raisa's birthday, and you are sitting here miserable!"  
Ivan looked over to his sister. How… he couldn't put his finger on what she was exactly. Not innocent, but there was an air of love and acceptance around her that made people want to open up. So that was what he did.  
"Toris and Felicja should be here."

"I'm sure they, er, send their regards," Eduard said nervously. "In fact, their letter is most probably on it's way this very moment."  
"But they should be here," stressed Ivan, "with us. We're a family." He frowned deeply, an aura of unhappiness and anger practically radiating from his being.  
"Are we not good enough company for you, big brother?" asked Natalya, a fearsome glint in her eyes. "Personally I am enjoying not having that _farmer girl_ at our table."  
"Don't call Felicja a farmer girl," appealed Katyusha, tears filling her pale blue eyes.  
"Please stop!" All heads turned to Raisa. "P-Please don't fight," she mumbled. Natalya rolled her eyes, but the other three nodded in assent.

The rest of dinner was eaten in silence.

Tradition dictated that at the end of the meal, Raisa should stand by the door, and each member of the family give her a kiss as they went up to bed. Natalya went first, pressing her cold lips to Raisa's cheek in a kiss which held nothing but disdain. Katyusha's kiss was sisterly and affectionate, and Eduard's was truly caring.  
"I love you," he whispered almost inaudibly before drawing away and leaving the dining room. Finally, Ivan stooped down and pressed a kiss to Raisa's forehead. The girl had to force herself not to shudder at the contact.

* * *

_Sharp pain. Falling through the air. A _thunk_ on stone floor._

_Waking with the odd sensation of not knowing how he got there._

_Was this real? Was it a memory? Or was it just a dream?_

* * *

**Reviews are so encouraging :)**


	6. Test

**Sorry I'm a bit late on this one. I have relatives staying for the weekend, and after an evening meal and stuff I can't very well log on at midnight while there's my seven-year-old cousin sleeping in my room.**

**Anyways, enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 5: Test

_noun_

_to put under severe strain_

* * *

"What do you mean, _forty percent_?" Roderich was completely in shock.

"There are citizens queuing in thousands, waiting for extra grain!" Elizabeta cried, throwing her hands in the air. "The harvest only collected forty percent of the predicted intake!"

"_Forty percent?"_  
"The citizens are terrified, they don't know why the crop failed! We need to distribute rations!"  
"_Forty percent?_"

"_Yes, Roderich, only forty percent!_" shrieked Elizabeta. She sighed angrily and covered her face with her hands, breathing deeply. "Magyar has been affected the most badly," she whispered. "Think of all the children, Roderich. Think of all the parents, the pain they will go through as their families starve." She uncovered her face, and her wide green eyes were glistening.  
"We will ration," said Roderich grimly. "We will open the grain store under the castle."  
"Do you think – do you think we can stay in the war after this?" Elizabeta's voice cracked midway through the sentence.  
"It will take their minds from the harvest," replied Roderich. "And… less people means bigger rations…"  
Elizabeta started sobbing, and Roderich had to bite his tongue to stop himself following her lead.

* * *

_New Year_

"Arthur! Let's sing," cried Princess Amelia. It was the evening of New Year's Day, and as usual, Arthur, Amelia and Madeline were having their traditional meal together. New Year's Eve was for the nobles to join them, but New Year's Day was family time. Usually it was a jolly, festive meal, where they laughed and sang, but Arthur was in a terrible mood after an emergency meeting about the war called on that very afternoon.

"Mealtime is for eating, not singing," he replied sternly, digging to his chicken irritably.  
"We always sing at New Year," whined Amelia.  
"Enunciate properly, girl!" snapped Arthur. "Just be quiet and finish your meal."  
"You have to get in the _spirit_ –"  
"Be quiet!"  
"The war isn't going to finish soon, is it?" asked Madeline, quietly but clearly. It was obvious – Arthur was still stressed, there was news every day of the high amount of casualties (that Arthur thought they didn't know), and there was never any sign of peace treaties, surrender, or any other political approaches that signify the ending of a war.

Arthur sighed. "You're right. This war will be raging for… well, we don't know when it will end."

* * *

_February_

"Lars?" Bella slipped into her brother's chamber. The windows were open, to try and air the room, and a vase of fresh tulips sat on the beside table – Bella had them replaced every few days.

Her brother stirred, and cracked open an eye. He was thin, his cheeks slowly hollowing, and his eyes seemed larger than they had before he had fallen ill, with dark circles staining the skin beneath them. His dirty-blond hair was drooping around his face instead of gelled in his signature spikes (Bella still didn't know what was in that strange mixture he insisted on rubbing into his hair every day).

"Where have you been?" he groaned, as he stretched his sore muscles.  
"I have been running your country."  
"Good for you, sister." Lars wasn't an old-fashioned man, he understood the potential women had and he knew that his sister would keep Nederland just as well as he did.  
"Thank you." Bella sat in the chair beside his bed and smoothed her skirt. "How do you feel?"  
"I want to get up. I need exercise."  
"Dr. Smit says that moving around your chamber is the most strenuous exercise you are allowed," chided Bella. "Here, I will help you walk about the room."

"I must ride a horse," moaned Lars, as he leant heavily on his sister and paced up and down his chamber. "I must practice archery, I must hunt –"  
He coughed violently, but it wasn't as bad as it had been two months ago. It was significantly less chesty.  
"You're getting better!" grinned Bella. Lars smiled grudgingly.  
"Will you let me outside now?"  
"I'll ask Smit."  
With great effort, Lars let go of his sister and stumbled over to the window, throwing his head outside and breathing deeply.

* * *

A public appearance was an important thing, even more so for Bella. She was to ride in her open-topped carriage, along the main market street of the city. It was her first official appearance as the regent for Lars, and she knew the people would be judgmental of her. After all, she was a woman, and unmarried. But she was determined to win them over, to show them that she could rule as well as any man. So she donned her plainest gown, and pinned her blonde hair back, removing the ribbon she loved. She had to prove that she wasn't society's stereotype of a woman, frivolous and materialistic.

The day was gorgeous, bright and blue with a fresh breeze. The carriage began to roll out of the castle courtyard. Bella shut her eyes briefly, steeling herself, before opening them wide and smiling openly. She wasn't prepared for the crowds that greeted her.

Women and children filled the cobbled pavements, and every so often there was a wounded man with a crutch or a sling. Many waved flags with the crest of the van Dijk family printed on them, and similar flags hung in shop windows. The air was full of the bustle of a holiday. Bella struggled to take everything in as the crowds cheered when her carriage rattled past. They were supporting her? She let out a happy giggle, and was delighted when her joy was reflected in nearly all of her citizen's faces.

_Nearly_ all. Suddenly a man pushed his way to the front of the crowd a way up the street. His withered leg left him leaning on a thick crutch, but it was clearly some sort of birth defect – he was too fat to be a recently returned soldier. His wide face was set in a scowl.  
"How can you cheer the female who will lead this land to ruin!" he bellowed. The crowd fell silent, and the carriage slowed. "Women are only good for having children! It is her fault that our men are dying in some godforsaken war!"

"Liar!" a woman shouted, and Bella felt a surge of gratitude to whoever it was – but it wasn't enough to erase the dread she felt at what the man was announcing for the world to hear.

"What do you know?" he yelled back. "All women, all of you! Women are feeble-minded, weak, stupid! Overthrow this _whore_ –" An angry murmur ran through the crowd, " – and free this country from the clutches of an incompetent female!"

Suddenly he was surrounded, blocked from Bella's view, mostly by bandaged soldiers.  
"He doesn't know anything!" someone called.  
"Ignore him, my lady!"  
"We don't believe him, my lady!"  
Some children started singing the national anthem, a bouncy tune that soon caught onto the rest of the crowd, and followed the carriage up the street. Tears were streaming down the Lady's cheeks, first of humiliation from that horrible man, but now they were from the sheer happiness of knowing that the rest of her citizens supported her. Everywhere she looked, people were smiling at her, cheering, and waving their flags.

She could bear one person not accepting her if all the others did.

* * *

_March_

Annina had been Raisa's caretaker for the girl's entire life. She had nursed her as a baby, been her nanny and governess as she grew, and was now her sole waiting-woman. She was the closest thing Raisa had to a mother, and now she was slightly suspicious of her.

Raisa seemed to constantly tremble, something which usually only happened when she was with the King or the Princess Natalya, and her tears were always close to the surface. Annina had suspicions, and she knew all the rumours that circulated the servant's quarters, but she needed to know from Raisa herself if they were true.

Raisa was in bed when Annina entered her chamber.  
"Good evening, Ninna," the girl sighed, already lying back on her pillows.  
"Good evening, dear." She sat down on the side of the large, four-poster bed and surveyed her charge critically. "You look ill, do you feel ill?"  
"N-n-no," stammered Raisa. "Everything is f-fine!"  
"Raisa, you are visibly upset. You must tell me the truth."  
The girl frowned worriedly, and Annina tucked a stray coil of brown hair that had escaped from her bun behind her ear, "I must ask you, dear, what is the nature with your relationship with Eduard?"

Raisa breathed in, a frightened look creeping into her eyes.  
"You can tell me, dear," said Annina kindly.  
"I… I-I-I love him…"  
"Have you slept with him?"  
"No!"  
"Good," said Annina firmly. "I am telling you now, Raisa, make sure you wait until you are married."

"How did you find out?" asked Raisa shakily.  
"My dear, all the servants know," admitted the nursemaid. "One of the footmen saw you two in an embrace."  
"B-but that means, his Majesty might find out!" Tears sprung to the girl's blue-violet eyes. "What if he finds out, Ninna? What will he do?"  
"Now, there is no point in being so frightened," soothed Annia, stoking Raisa's hair, which was falling out of it's mad curls into her natural, softer waves.  
"H-He's so terrifying! He could kill me! _And_ Eduard!"  
"He would never kill you, dear, he loves you both."  
"I'm scared…" whimpered Raisa.

"Well then, you know what to do. There is no point in having a love affair if you fear for your life. So, you can either break off your relationship with Eduard, or you can leave with him and live in Eesti. Either way you will be safe."  
"Toris and Felicja have already left," mumbled Raisa. "We could follow them…"

Raisa let a few more tears roll down her red cheeks. "What must Mother and Father think of me?" she whispered brokenly. "They must hate me, being so pathetic and weak."  
"They could never hate you, my dear!" vowed Annina, clasping Raisa's hand.  
"You said that they sent me away before they died," murmured the distressed girl.  
"I've never told you the full story, have I?" realised Annina, cursing herself. "I will tell you it now. Lie back, I'll sit in the chair and tell you everything about what your deceased parents thought of you."

Raisa dried her eyes on the cuff of her nightgown and lay on her side, watching Annina settle herself into the wicker chair beside her bed.  
"Your parents wanted a child desperately," she started, "but they always thought your mother was unable to conceive. Your mother was older than me when you were born, early I may add, and they were overjoyed. You were their _miracle_, and they couldn't have loved you more.

"You couldn't have been more than five years old when the plague came. Your father came down with it quickly, and was bedridden within a day. Your mother contracted it too, but she succumbed more slowly – slowly enough to tell me, who had survived the plague last time it came, to take you to Eesti, where her cousin would shelter us. They loved you too much to take the risk of you becoming ill.

"They both passed away just two days after we arrived in Eesti. Just two days, and yet everyone in that household was already quite taken with you, young master Eduard especially – he was, what, eight years old? He tried to teach you everything he learnt with his tutor, even though you could barely write your own name. At your parents' funeral, he insisted on looking after you with young master Toris. They came to me and, placing their hands on their hearts, said solemnly, _We swear that we will protect Raisa and care for her until she is grown up_. We lived in Eesti for the next few years, and you spent a lot of time in the company of the young masters. Then King Ivan's father, the late King, ordered for you all to be brought here, when you were around seven years old. You can probably remember from then onwards.

"So you see, Raisa, your parents and Eduard, both love you very, very much."

Raisa nodded, eyes shut. "Thank you, Ninna," she whispered, almost inaudibly. But Annina heard, and she kissed Raisa's forehead affectionately before putting out the gas lamp and leaving the chamber.

* * *

Francis lay in bed. It was the small hours of the morning, but he couldn't sleep.

He had planned this war since he was fifteen years old, spent hours of his time thinking, plotting and planning, and yet – it wasn't enough. He didn't feel _connected_ enough.

More soldiers? Perhaps that would do.

* * *

**You have no idea how long I've planned to throw Raisa's back story in there ^^; And the mysteries just keep on coming! The next two chapters and heinously long, to tide you over until after my exams. Leave a review - constructive criticism and what you want to read next are most helpful!**


	7. Family

**Can this tide you over for two weeks? I have exams starting on Monday. One whole week of sitting in exactly the same seat in the Sports Hall ;n;**

**I'm not even joking, this chapter is literally all about families. Enjoy~**

* * *

Chapter 6: Family

_noun_

_any __group __of __persons __closely __related __by __blood__  
all those persons considered as descendants of a common progenitor  
_

* * *

_May_

Eduard took a deep breath, and entered the dining room, where Ivan, Yekaterina and Natalya were eating lunch. He and Raisa had eaten earlier, furtively planning what Eduard was going to say – and now he was here to say it.

Ivan sat at the head of the table, eating a meal of meat and potatoes, a meal smaller than you'd imagine for someone of his height and build. As always, he wore his little signature smile, the smile of a person who knows a secret. He looked up as his cousin entered the room, and his smile grew wider. Eduard had purposely taken his spectacles off, appearing younger – he knew that Ivan liked the look of vulnerability. It was best to give him what he wanted, if you wanted to increase your own chances.

"Ah, Eduard." Ivan swallowed his mouthful. "What do you need?"  
"Good afternoon, your Majesty. I was wondering if I may take Raisa to spend a few weeks with my mother in Eesti."

Ivan set down his cutlery delicately.  
"No."

Eduard frowned slightly. Surely he couldn't have made his mind up so soon?  
"Sir, she is growing old, I don't know how many years she has left. I would only be gone for –"  
"I said no," interrupted Ivan sweetly.  
"But sir –"  
"Are you going deaf, Eduard?" Ivan drew himself up to his full imposing height, and took a step towards his cousin. The eyes of the two women followed him, their food forgotten. "I have said no, and I won't say it again." The words were deceptively calm, but the tone was slightly menacing.

Eduard forced himself to look the king in the face.  
"Please, sir, just for a few weeks," he repeated uneasily. Ivan's eyes darkened with anger, and without warning he raised his hand and struck Eduard across the face, a rough backhand that sent the shorter man flying back. He landed on the hard floor, clutching his face. Already the mark of a hand was showing on his pale skin.

"_I said no!_" bellowed Ivan, his voice magnified and echoing around the room. "_You will never leave me, Eduard, and neither will Raisa! Never!_"

Eduard felt a tear of shock roll quickly down his flaming, injured cheek, and drip onto his collarbone. Ivan had never _hit_ him before, not seriously, not like this. He scrambled to his feet and fled the room. The slam of the large door echoed through the high-ceilinged dining room.

Ivan returned to his seat, still scowling. Katyusha was close to tears, but Natalya's reaction was far more shocking; she was completely unperturbed, as if such things happened every day, or that it wasn't her own brother who had just abused her own cousin. It was complete lack of empathy.  
"_Kolkolkol_…" growled Ivan, glaring at his food as if he wished it to disintegrate. Everybody was leaving him, and nobody should ever leave him.

Eduard refused to leave his chamber for the rest of the day, and Ivan was honestly confused as to why. Dinner was uncomfortable – Raisa was watching the door, praying that Eduard would come down, Natalya was in a foul mood for some reason, and Ivan chatted casually as if nothing was wrong. In his mind, nothing _was _wrong.

Meanwhile, the man himself pacing around his room, muttering furiously, sitting down occasionally to scribble pages of treason against the king before throwing the pages into the roaring fire and jumping up again. A huge bruise was already forming across his right cheek. Tomorrow he would go to Ivan again, but this time it would be different: he wouldn't seek to please, nor act the humble citizen – he was Ivan's cousin and had no reason to. He would be straight with the king, and show him what he really meant. Perhaps even intimidate him a little.

Because if he knew one thing, it was that Natalya was the most intimidating and truthful person to Ivan, and he was terrified of her.

* * *

He went at breakfast the next day. All four of his cousins were eating, and he intended to make an impression. He dressed smartly, and wore his spectacles – they gave his face a sharper edge, made him look sterner. Overnight the large, pale bruise of the previous afternoon had become a viciously purple brand that stretched from around the socket of his right eye almost down to his jawbone. That alone caught their attention.

"Eduard! We missed you at dinner last night." Ivan sounded cheery, but his expression said otherwise; he looked shocked and slightly insecure.  
"I would like to take Raisa to visit my mother in Eesti for a few weeks," Eduard stated. There was no delicacy or ingratiation this time. Katyusha and Raisa looked horrified, and even Natalya appeared slightly surprised.  
"Now Eduard, I already said…" Ivan trailed off, and his violet eyes sought his cousin's blue-green ones.

They were so cold, Ivan couldn't stand it. All he wanted was love, a warm household, with relatives that wanted to be with him! He hadn't meant to hurt Eduard, but he had gotten so angry that the man wanted to leave. It was bad enough that Felicja and Toris were already gone, but the loss of his last two cousins would be unbearable. What if they never came back? That's why they were all better off in the Crystal Castle, where Ivan knew they were.

But looking into Eduard's eyes, he saw the most frightening thing of all: hatred.

"I – You can go," Ivan said falteringly. "But please… come back," he sighed sadly.

Eduard was shocked. He had never seen Ivan look so helpless before. His expression softened a little.  
"We will come back." He looked over to Raisa, who was shaking, hands over her mouth to stop herself bursting into tears. "Come, Raisa, have your cases packed. We leave immediately."

* * *

"Eduard!"  
Lady Johanna von Bock embraced her son warmly – it had been a long time since she had last seen him.  
"And Raisa too, how wonderful " she smiled, hugging the girl too. "This is a lovely surprise!"

"It's been too long," agreed Eduard, kissing his mother's head. When he drew back, the older woman gasped.  
"Eduard, what happened to your face?" she asked, horrified, touching the bruise. It was healing, but the green tinges only made it look worse.  
"Never mind," he brushed off, shaking his head. "Raisa, why don't you go and unpack? I need to discuss something with you, Mother."

A footman lifted Raisa's trunk, and with a maid they led her up the grand staircase, probably to a chamber very near her old nursery.

"She's grown up a lot," smiled Johanna. "Well, not _up_, she's still a tiny girl…"  
"Like a little porcelain doll," added Eduard absent-mindedly.  
"Anyway, come to your father's study, we can talk in there."

The study was exactly how Eduard remembered it: the colour scheme a warm cream-and-brown, with a comfortable chair at the desk, a few extra chairs for visitors, a small table, and a large cabinet holding trinkets miscellaneous items. Johanna opened the cabinet and took out two snifters and a bottle of brandy, while Eduard pulled up chairs.

"So, what was it you wanted to talk about?"  
"Well, Mother…" Eduard smiled, slightly abashed, "I'm in love, and I want to get married."  
Johanna's face broke into a grin. "Oh Eduard! How marvellous! I must admit, I did worry a little that this day would never come!"  
"What do you mean?" Eduard laughed, puzzled but not offended – he was too happy that he now had the approval of his mother, all he needed was for her to accept, and they could be wed.  
"Well, you were always a quiet boy, you never showed an interest in courting. I thought you might choose to remain an intellectual instead of settling down. But this is wonderful! Who is she?"

"Raisa," said Eduard hopefully, suddenly worried that his mother wouldn't think she was suitable, although of course she had no reason to…  
"Oh, that's just perfect," said Johanna happily. "She's practically family already! You haven't proposed yet, have you?"  
"Not yet."  
"I have just the thing!" Johanna set her snifter down on the table, and went over to the cabinet, rummaging around inside. She drew out a small box, and gave it to Eduard. Inside was a ring – white gold, with a single circular diamond. It was timelessly beautiful.

"It belonged to your grandmother," said Johanna sentimentally. "I would be honoured if you gave it to Raisa."  
"Thank you, Mother," said Eduard gratefully, embracing his mother. "You, Toris and Felicja will probably be the only guests at the wedding," he joked.  
"You haven't told Ivan?"  
"No, and I don't plan to. I'm tired of him controlling every aspect of my life."

One week later, they went to Lietuva.

Toris and Felicja were sitting outside enjoying the warm evening sunshine when their carriage rolled into the courtyard. As Eduard and Raisa stepped out, they were met by their overjoyed cousins; Raisa was hugged tightly and kissed, while Felicja smoothed Eduard's hair in greeting and Toris shook his hand heartily. The group strolled inside, and dinner was called for.

"How long are you staying?" asked Toris, as they tucked into ample helpings of meat, potatoes and vegetables.  
"Well…" Eduard's face seemed to fall slightly. "I told Ivan 'a few weeks'. How long would he interpret that to be?"  
"Do you think we could get away with six weeks here?" asked Raisa, her nerves calmed now that she was away from the two scariest people in her life, Ivan and Natalya.  
"Ivan will expect you back in like, two weeks," replied Felicja disdainfully.  
"Two weeks?" squeaked Raisa. "I don't want to go back! I want to stay in Baltija!"

"Good, because me and Liet have totally been planning for all four of us to break away from the Long-Winter Kingdom, and to become like, a separate Kingdom!"

"What?" Eduard and Raisa exclaimed in unison.  
"It's a little far-fetched," admitted Toris, "but it might work. And it is worth the risk, if we're allowed to be free of Ivan, isn't it?"  
There were solemn nods. Eduard exchanged a look with Raisa, and she nodded slightly, blushing.

"If there's a chance we only have two weeks here, we need to tell you something, Toris, Felicja," started Eduard.  
"We're listening!" said Felicja enthusiastically, an idea growing in her mind.  
Eduard took Raisa's hand underneath the table, squeezed it softly, and then lifted it up into view. The ring on her left fourth finger caught the light, and the diamond sparkled.  
"Raisa and I are going to be wed."

Felicja let out a happy laugh, and Toris grinned.  
"Congratulations!" the brunet praised, jumping up to kiss Raisa's forehead and shake Eduard's hand for the second time that day.  
"This is totally brilliant!" said Felicja excitedly. "I'll plan the wedding, alright? We can have –"  
"We don't want anything too big," interrupted Raisa, slightly nervously. "Just us four and Aunt Johanna."

Realisation seemed to dawn on Toris and Felicja.  
"You haven't told Ivan, have you?" sighed Toris.  
"We don't want him controlling us!" cried Raisa. "He wouldn't let us marry!"  
"Good for you," said Felicja. "These are the steps towards independence!"  
"If it's going to be a small wedding, and we don't have lots of time," suggested Eduard, "why don't we marry sooner? Say… next week?"  
"_Next week?_"  
"What?" said Eduard defensively. "Even Ivan can't break the laws of marriage, so the sooner it's done, the better."

The idea seemed to slowly saturate the room.  
"Next week…" hummed Felicja, wondering if that was enough time to organise even a small wedding.  
"Next week…?" mused Toris, remembering the wait of nearly six months before he and Felicja had been wed.  
"Next week!" Raisa was a bit frightened, but excited. This was her dream, and all she hoped was that everything would lead onto a safe, happy life with Eduard, and Toris and Felicja.

Unfortunately, that was rarely the way things turned out.

* * *

_June_

"My little brother is growing up," said Ingrid in a somewhat wistful voice.  
"Sixteen already!" Mathias said proudly, as if it were his own child who had reached the age and not his brother-in-law.

"Yes, yes," said Freyr in a rather bored tone, preferring to dedicate his energy on eating rather than listen to the two most annoying people in the world, in his opinion.

"Soon you'll be getting married," smiled Kristiina, "having children of your own –"  
"What? No," interrupted the sixteen-year-old prince. "No, no, I'm not having children."  
"But children are the greatest joy in life!" exclaimed Tiina, eyes widening as if shocked that the teenager didn't want to spawn anything. Freyr resisted the urge to retort with '_Then why don't you have any?'_, which risked upsetting his generally favourite family member, and just kept silent.

"D'you wan'us t'look f'r a girl f'r y'?" asked Berwald. Freyr stared at him. "Y'know, f'r y'to marry, when th'time comes."  
Concluding with horror that Berwald was actually being serious, Freyr shook his head furiously.  
"Definitely not! Why have you all gone so mad all of a sudden? Sixteen is just an age."

Just like that, he was pounced on.  
"Sixteen is not 'just an age' –"  
" – turning point –"  
" – b'come an adult –"  
" – responsibilities –"  
" – didn't you _realise _–"

"If I had to marry someone, could I marry the Lady Lili?" Freyr asked quietly. Suddenly, all talk ceased.

"Freyr," said Mathias seriously. "Do you have anything you need to tell us?"  
The teenager looked around at Kristiina's curious expression, Berwald's probing eyes, Mathias' look of intense concentration, and Ingrid's posture that didn't conceal her intake of breath.

"No," he lied nonchalantly, watching with some pleasure the unbridled curiosity of his nosy family abate. "By the way, do you think this war will end soon?"  
There was more silence. It was the question that had been at the back of everyone's minds, but hadn't been brought forward.  
"Well, it can't go on for _too_ much longer, can it?" asked Kristiina. Funnily enough, nobody really wanted to answer.

* * *

_July_

Even though they were twins, as young children Madeline and Amelia had had separate nursemaids, from opposite ends of the country, separate nurseries, and even separate birthdays – Madeline had always celebrated hers on the 1st of July, whereas Amelia's had always been on the 4th, simply because the nursemaids hadn't been sure when the newborns had been handed over to them whether it was one or the other. Once they moved into the Capital Castle, Arthur compromised with celebrating their birthday over the 2nd and 3rd of July.

As usual, on the night of the 2nd, Arthur hosted a ball, and their allies were the guests of honour – King Francis, Lady Bella and Lord Lars. The monarchs of the Kingdom of Fire and Ice were also present, since they were neutral and were generally invited to every event hosted by any one leader.

The first dance was led by Arthur and Amelia, and Francis and Madeline – godfathers and goddaughters.  
"You look tired, Papa," said Madeline quietly as they waltzed, her gown swishing around her feet, referring to the pale grey rings under his eyes.  
"I'm fine," he assured her. "Now, we should discuss you, darling, it is your birthday after all. Your dress looks absolutely gorgeous!"  
It was made of silk and boat-necked, with a red bodice, full-length bell sleeves and a white and red skirt. A line of white fabric roses was stitched carefully along the neckline, and the two front locks of her long, wavy were pinned back with red ribbons. The overall effect was charming, especially compared to Amelia, who had chosen a louder dress of blue, red and white.

"You had it made for me," Madeline reminded him, chuckling.  
"Then I have very good taste," he replied with a wink. "The roses were a beautiful touch, if I do say so myself."  
Francis was actually a talented designer. He had an eye for colours, fabrics, and the cut of clothes. He knew how to make someone look their best, and how to make an impression with a single gown.  
"It is my favourite gown, thank you Papa," said Madeline truthfully.  
"It was my pleasure, darling."

Madeline danced a fast polka with King Mathias, who danced so energetically that she was quite out of breath once the music finished, and stately foxtrots with King Berwald and Prince Freyr, the latter of which was slightly embarrassing because in her heeled shoes she was taller than the prince, who was three years her junior.

Arthur approached her with Lord Lars in tow when the newly-nineteen-year-old princess was taking a break from the dancing and was sipping some wine that Freyr had kindly fetched for her.  
"Are you enjoying yourself, love?" he asked kindly – he was obviously making an effort to be pleasant, despite the fact that he looked as exhausted as Francis.  
"Very much," she replied politely, before curtseying to Lord Lars, "Good evening, sir," and looking up at him and truly noticing what he looked like.

She didn't know him that well, but from his height and build she could tell that he wouldn't naturally be _so_ thin, with _such_ dark circles under his tired eyes that they could have been bruises. He caught Madeline's eye, and she could tell that although he was standing straight and determined, he was drained of energy.  
"Madeline recently lost… well, one of her close acquaintances," said Arthur, unaware of the silent communication, "and I thought, well, Lars and Madeline are rather similar, perhaps they would get along well? So I've come to introduce you, and I think, Madeline, your next few dances should be with Lars here."  
"Oh, of course," agreed Madeline, who hadn't truly been listening. As if on cue, the orchestra started up a waltz, and Lars led her to the floor.

"Are you alright?" she asked him worriedly.  
"Hmm," he mumbled, as if even talking was using energy he didn't have. "Very tired. I've been very ill recently."  
"Then why did you come?" asked Madeline concernedly, frowning. "You should be resting!"  
"My sister said the same, but I needed to get out."  
"Well, it's best that you get to bed as soon as possible! After this dance, lead my sister for just one more, and then retire, please!"  
"Arthur said –"  
"Your health and wellbeing should come before Arthur's schemes," interrupted Madeline in a brief show of assertiveness. Lars smiled weakly down to her, being one of the few men who was considerably taller than her.  
"You have character," he said admiringly. Madeline blushed, and thanked him. He was a nice man, and friendly… but her heart still ached for Gilbert.

* * *

The ball finished in the early hours of the morning. The less important guests went home, their Great Kingdom and Kingdom of Fire and Ice nobles went to the chambers they were staying in for the night, and Madeline followed Arthur to his study.

"So sorry, Meggie, it's definitely in there," the King was saying with a slight slur from just a little too much alcohol (his sixth glass of wine had been taken from him by Francis, who had supervised him from then on to make sure no more alcohol was given to the tipsy king), referring to her birthday gift from him. At breakfast that morning he had brought down a small, beautiful necklace with a star-shaped pendant for Amelia, but had left Madeline's in his study.

"Take a seat, love, while I find it…" Arthur fumbled in his desk drawers while Madeline settled herself in his chair. The room was dark, the only light coming from the burning embers in the fireplace. "Ah, here it is!"  
He produced a small box from underneath a pile of paperwork and handed it to the princess.

Inside was a necklace, much like the one he had given Amelia, except that the pendant was shaped into a small maple leaf.  
"Oh, it's beautiful, thank you so much!" Madeline embraced Arthur happily.  
"You're very welcome, love, very welcome…" Arthur was getting misty-eyed. "You like Lars, don't you Meg? You can marry him instead, you can forget all about Gilbert –"  
"_What?_" Madeline interrupted, a sense of dismay descending. Arthur was drunk, but most likely telling the truth. "You're trying to arrange for me to marry _Lars_?"

"He's a fine man," rebuked Arthur, wiping his eyes, "far better than that – "  
"What is wrong with Gilbert?" asked Madeline, in a slightly annoyed tone. What had brought on this sudden anti-Gilbert campaign?  
"Did I ever tell you about Henry?" asked Arthur, seemingly ignoring Madeline.  
"Who's Henry?"

"Henry was my brother, and when he was one year old, he fell into a lake and drowned."  
"Oh goodness!" Madeline covered her mouth in horror. Arthur had never so much as mentioned this!  
"I was five years old, and I jumped in to save him. Unfortunately, I couldn't swim either, but one of the footmen had come running by then and pulled us both out of the water. I survived. He didn't." Arthur's voice was oddly detached, yet tears were beginning to drip down his cheeks.  
"That's terrible –"  
"But then, when I was about ten or eleven, when I was friends with Francis, Gilbert and Antonio, we were by a lake one day, and Gilbert – _he pushed me in!_" Arthur ran a hand through his hair angrily, making it stick out wildly in all directions. "I couldn't swim, and I was left splashing desperately while they _laughed._ Finally Francis helped me out, but not before I'd relived the horrors of feeling like I was drowning."

"I know that was cruel, Arthur, but they were just children –" Madeline tried to re-enter the conversation, but Arthur cut her off.  
"And the worst part is, the bastard wasn't even _sorry_. Francis and Antonio apologised, but he just acted as if he had done nothing wrong. I don't give forgiveness to those who don't seek it," the King finished bitterly.

There was a short silence, before Madeline stood up and made for the door.  
"Grudges turn your heart hard, Arthur," she whispered, before she left the room, leaving the King alone with his memories.

* * *

"Ludwig!" Felicita burst into her husband's study. The blond man jumped violently in his chair and dropped his pen, ink splashing all over the paper he had been writing on. He let out a cry of frustration.  
"Felicita!" he barked, twisting around to face her. "I've told you once, I've told you _a thousand times_, do not – what's happened?"

Felicita was generally a happy woman, but this was beyond anything Ludwig had ever seen – she looked as if her God himself had come to Deutschland and was standing in the courtyard, asking to be invited in.

"I'm _pregnant_!" she squealed, jiggling up and down happily, that untamable lock of hair that curled outwards bouncing, before stopping suddenly and grabbing her belly, talking so fast Ludwig could barely hear the individual words. "That's probably not good for the baby, is it, but I can't help it I'm so happy! I'm going to be a mama and you're going to be a papa and I'm already twenty weeks so it won't be very long until –"

"Wait, Felicita, slow down." He grabbed her hands, which were fluttering excitedly. "I, er, don't know anything about… pregnancy… or babies at all, really…" he admitted, reddening, "so, you have to explain to me, what is twenty weeks?"

"Don't worry, I'll explain everything!" grinned Felicita, swelling with pride that she actually knew more than him in this field. "A baby has to be in womb for forty weeks, _si_? Sometimes a bit more, sometimes a bit less, but generally forty weeks, _si_?"  
Ludwig nodded embarrassedly.  
"So this baby has already been in the womb for about twenty weeks."  
"Wait, so you've been pregnant for the last four months and you didn't know?" Ludwig asked, dumbfounded. "How is that possible?"  
"Well…" Felicita tipped her head in an adorably innocent expression of thoughtfulness. "I wasn't very ill or tired, and I forgot all about my monthly term –"  
"Wait, monthly term? What's a monthly term?"  
"Oh, Ludwig! It's when a –"

"Felicita!" Lovina hurried into the room, holding up her skirts so she could move faster. Her expression was a strange mixture of her permanent irritability coupled with surprise. "I could hear you from down the corridor! You're _pregnant_?"  
"Yes, yes I am!" Felicita started jumping around again, twirling around the room happily. "But Ludwig doesn't know anything about babies so I'm just explaining to him when the baby will be born and what my monthly term is!"  
"_What?_" Lovina blushed bright red, and grabbed her sister's arm. "You didn't _actually_ tell him what your monthly term was, did you?"  
"No, you interrupted me," replied Felicita petulantly.  
"Good!" Lovina strode over to Ludwig and jabbed him in the chest with her index finger. "All you need to know, you stupid potato, is that the baby will be born in…" She turned to Felicita, "how many weeks?"  
"About twenty."  
"The baby will be born in twenty weeks," she continued grumpily, poking him again, "so you need to hire a nursemaid and buy a cradle. Don't ask her anything else! That is _women's_ –" poke, " – _knowledge_ – " poke, "and _women's knowledge only_." She turned on her heel and made to leave, before pausing at the last minute and saying, "And think of a name! A good Italiano name."

* * *

**Hope it wasn't too disappointing, and your next update will come next weekend if you're _extremely_ lucky, but most like the weekend after. Reviews are love!**


	8. Personal

**Sorry for the wait guys! I had end of year exams. They are now over and I am free to secretly doss around until the start of the summer holidays, when I can then openly doss around :P**

**I hope this chapter is satisfying. I'm really hoping to hurry this along, since I know what the end will be, but I'm not quite sure of the fuzzy stuff in between now and then.**

**This chapter contains a childbirth scene, but not graphic or anything. I think if you're old enough to be reading this, you're old enough to have an idea of what giving birth entails...**

* * *

Chapter 7: Personal

_adjective_

_relating to, directed to, or intended for a particular person  
intended __for __use __by__ just __one __person_

* * *

_August_

Fierce winds and rain howled around Basch's castle. The sweltering heat of the day had given way to a heavy summer storm in the evening. The brother and sister sat in their cosy library – Basch was on a couch, reading a thick book about the history of pistols (his not-so-secret hobby) and Lili was curled in an armchair adjacent to him, wrapped up in a thick blanket and an adventure story. Her cup of hot milk sat on the table between them.

Just when the rain seemed to be abating a little, there was a loud _boom! _that the siblings could almost _feel_. It didn't sound like thunder. Lili looked up from her book worriedly.

"Big brother, what was that?" She could guess, but wanted confirmation.  
Basch shut his book with an angry _snap _and sighed deeply.  
"They've been at it for whole year, and for what?" he mumbled, before glancing over to his sister. "It sounded like artillery. It's the soldiers in their trenches, near the border."  
"It sounded so close," Lili shuddered. "We're definitely safe here, aren't we?"  
"Of course!"  
"That's good to know," she smiled, relaxing now that she had Basch's promise. Of course, if anyone knew whether they were safe from the gunfire, it would be him.

Basch wasn't reading anymore, he was staring into the middle distance with a slight frown, his mouth turned down. Another _boom!_ sounded, and he blinked, eyes focusing again.  
"Big brother?"  
"Sorry, Lili, I was just… thinking."  
"Big brother, why are you neutral?" Lili asked, sudden curiosity striking her. She'd never thought about why Basch insisted on being neutral in any military matters in the Great Kingdom, but now she wondered.

"It's a long story, and it's late," he replied shortly, brushing his hair out of his eyes.  
"Maybe you could shorten it for me?" Lili pushed gently. She _really_ wanted to know.  
"Well… oh, alright." Basch relented. He opened his book to quickly fold down his page, and placed it on the table, beside Lili's cup.

"After Mother and Father passed away, and I came to power, my first priority was for us to be safe. Any allegiances, while having benefits, will ultimately lead to clashes because other people are too _stupid _to think before they start a fight! Also, since I was quite young, I felt as if… as if everybody was waiting for me to fail. So I realised that neutrality is the safest option because no ties to anyone keeps you isolated and safe. I could also prove that I was able to survive on my own."

"Then why aren't you happy?" asked Lili, stifling a yawn.  
"What do you mean?"  
"I don't mean any offence, big brother, but if we are so safe, why don't you enjoy it?"  
Basch closed his eyes, remembering what had happened mere hours before they left Deutschland.

"_Leaving so soon?" Basch passed Antonio in one of the many hallways, while the blond man was on his way back to his chamber, just to check that he had all his things.  
"Yes," Basch replied shortly.  
"It's a shame," sighed Antonio. "I think Ludwig really needs your help."  
"You've all given generously," snapped Basch, "and personally I think this war will be over in a matter of months anyway. They have nothing to fight about."  
"But grudges are the things that people remember the longest, and who knows that Francis has against Ludwig?"  
"Shouldn't you know? You were friends with him, weren't you?"_

_Antonio ran a hand through his hair, eyes sad.  
"After the Autumn War – you remember the Autumn War? About fourteen, fifteen years ago? – anyway, after that, Francis wasn't the same. He was… I can't explain it, but he wasn't so carefree and fun anymore. So we drifted apart, and now look where we are." Antonio threw his hands up in a gesture of resignation, a wistful smile on his face. "Fighting each other. That's why I envy you a little, Basch."_

"_Envy me?" Basch frowned. "Why should you envy me? You have a large amount of friends, a good wife, a rich land, and a magnetic personality. Why would you envy me, of all people?"  
"Because you are neutral," replied Antonio. "Me, I like to be on everybody's good side, but it's impossible when you have alliances. That's why I want Ludwig to be discreet about the soldiers I send him; I want to stay on everybody's good side, for better or worse. But you, you will never have to fight against anyone, and I envy that."_

"Antonio is trying to have it both ways. He helps Ludwig for the sake of his wife and what should if Ludwig should win, but at the same time, he wants to be protected if Ludwig _doesn't_ win.

"It's true, I will never have to fight against anyone," mused Basch, "but I will never fight _with_ anyone either. I will never know whether it is worth the sacrifice."

Basch yawned loudly, and looked over to his sister. "Do you – oh."  
He smiled softly, for Lili had fallen asleep. He stood up, brushed down his clothes, and gently lifted her, still swaddled in her blanket, into his arms. As he carried her to her chamber and lay her on her bed, he realised that it was her questions that made him actually think about the path he was forging, and ponder about whether it was the right one.

* * *

_September_

"Thank you for joining me, gentlemen," Francis started, nodding to Arthur and Lars, "oh, and lady." Bella smiled sweetly, not offended, seeing as it was a rather alien concept to have women in official meetings.

"I believe this meeting will be a stride forward in our progress in this war, and –"  
"Get to the point, Francis," interrupted Arthur rudely. "This bloody war has made absolutely no progress in the past six months, except for thousands of men dying and an amount of ugly trenches marring the landscape of the borders between them and us."  
Francis chuckled. "Always the straight man, aren't you Arthur?"  
"The _irritated_ man," corrected Arthur, scowling. "Citizens in the west of my kingdom have started protesting, saying that too many men are going for a war they have nothing to do with, and frankly I can see their point."

"Protesting? What do you mean by protesting?"  
"Marches, rallies and such."  
"They haven't burned anything down? Gone on strike? No riots?"  
"No…"  
"Then they are fine," Francis waved off indifferently.  
"If it takes arson and rioting for you to change something your people don't like, I shudder to think of the state of your streets!"

"Instead of fighting," said Lars, in his deep and rather slow voice, "why don't we get on with the meeting?"  
"Well, why don't you tell us about Nederland?" asked Arthur, turning to the siblings. "What do your citizens think about this war?"  
His tone of voice made it perfectly clear what answer he expected.

"Hm." Lars sat back.  
"Well…" Bella looked thoughtful, but slightly uneasy.  
"They don't complain," stated Lars.  
"Of course, there is now a shortage of farm labourers, so women have started to work the land," said Bella, fiddling with the hem of her skirt. "But I think we're doing fine, for now."  
"So you can hold out for a while longer?" asked Francis brightly.  
"Oh yes," agreed Bella. "A few a good eight weeks, at least. Perhaps four months."

Francis looked alarmed.  
"Just four months?"  
"At best," clarified Lars.  
"Are you sure?" Francis ran his hands through his hair. "That… isn't very long."  
"What do you expect?" demanded Arthur. "They're just fighting and dying, for the sake of fighting and dying! We don't know what your _aim_ is, Francis! What is your aim?"

Silence fell. Francis massaged his temples, rubbing the fingers of his left hand over that small scar over and over.  
"You don't even know your aim, do you?" asked Arthur in disbelief. He stood up, and paced about the room, evidently thinking about what to say next. Bella's green eyes followed him, while Lars closed his eyes, breathing deeply.  
"Okay." Arthur stopped, and turned to Francis. "Why did you start this war?"  
"I don't want to talk about it," replied Francis quietly, knotting his fingers together.  
"Well _tough luck_, we are your allies!"  
"It is a _personal_ matter," snapped Francis.  
"And I am the _person_ you must tell!" yelled Arthur, running his hands through his hair furiously. "If you don't tell me and Lars and Bella, how can we trust you?"

Bella and Lars watched their allies argue, quiet but worried. An awkward silence fell over the room as all eyes were on Francis, waiting for his answer.

"It just felt like… something I had to do," he finally sighed. "It feels like, for the past fifteen years, something has been telling me that this is just… _the_ thing to do. Do you understand?"

"Something has been telling you? Are you having hallucinations?" asked Arthur sharply, with none of the delicacy that surrounded the topic of mental illness.  
"No! Just, inside my head."  
"Voices inside your head?"  
"No… it's as if the idea of starting a war has been there for the past fifteen years completely normally, like the idea that my name is Francis. Do you understand now?"  
"So, it's as if this… idea has been ingrained," said Arthur thoughtfully, his anger gone. "Now that you've fulfilled this idea, can you not just surrender, end the war and tell Ludwig that you weren't in your right mind?"

"No!" Francis looked panicked for a split second, before composing himself once more. "Without this war, I feel that… I'm not myself. That there has been a lie inside my head for half of my life."  
"…Alright."  
"What?"  
"I'll support you," said Arthur, his expression considerably softer. "This may be a leap of faith, you frog… but I'll support you."

* * *

_October_

"Felicita, you should go and rest," said Ludwig worriedly. His wife just smiled – but it was taut and far too bright.  
"I'm fine, perfectly fine," she said sweetly. She rested a hand on her swollen belly, rubbing it gently, and placed the other over her mouth to stifle another yawn. "Do go on," she said to the Head of the Council, whose face was set in an expression of disapproval, with pursed lips and a wrinkled nose.

"As I was _saying_," he huffed, in a whining, nasal voice, "before I was _interrupted_ –"  
"Please make allowances for the Queen," sighed Ludwig, somewhat annoyed that his head politician was so chauvinistic and rude. "She is pregnant, after all."  
"In my opinion, the best thing for a woman in the family way is to remove herself from matters of such importance," sniffed the Head. Ludwig frowned at his very obvious patronising air, but Felicita sat up and said, "I promise, I won't make any more noise. Baby, stop keeping me up all night," she cooed to her bump. The Head rolled his eyes.  
"_As_ I was saying –"

This time he was cut off by a short scream, followed but a string of Italiano curses and a thump. All heads swiveled to the door.  
"What now?" muttered the Head irritably, but even he looked concerned.

Meanwhile, Felicita's face had drained of colour – her tanned complexion now had a sickly grey undertone.  
"Lovina!"  
She heaved herself up and flung open the heavy door, her husband right behind her.

Lovina lay on the stone floor, clutching her arm, from which an arrow was protruding. Blood was blossoming slowly in the green fabric of her gown around the wound.  
"Lovina!" Felicita screamed, throwing herself to her knees beside her twin, who was rapidly losing consciousness. Three guards from further down the corridor came running, and two knelt beside Lovina.  
"There is a note attached to the arrow," said one, pulling the _Italiana_ queen's hand from the injury. He pulled to note from the arrow and read it silently, eyes wide. The final guard stepped closer to the open window.

"This was closed before. I think she was shot when she opened it."  
He stood directly in front of the window, and the second he pulled it shut, another arrow embedded itself in the wooden frame. The guard leapt back with a curse.  
"Take her to her chamber!" ordered Ludwig as the taller guard hoisted the unconscious Lovina into his arms. "And send for the physician and Antonio!"

Felicita was crying, but her sobs were growing louder and more hysterical.  
"Someone tried to kill my sister!" she shrieked. "Some tried to kill Lovina!"  
Suddenly her breathing hitched and, wrapping both arms around her stomach, she wailed even louder.  
"The baby – !"  
_The baby?_ Ludwig snapped into action. He lifted Felicita to her unsteady feet and called for servants.  
"Escort the Queen to her chamber! She has gone into labour!"  
"Sire, this is exactly why I believe that women have no place on the council," said the Head, appearing at the King's side, tutting at the sobbing Felicita.  
"Be quiet!" barked Ludwig. "You have overstepped the mark! It is not your place to say anything of the sort to a ruling monarch!"  
"All I meant was –"  
"Be gone!" Mumbling apologies, the Head was sent scurrying back to the Council Chamber. Ludwig breathed out contentedly – he had wanted to do that for a long time – before running to catch up with the maids who were leading Felicita down the hall.

Once Felicita was settled onto their bed, which two maids were hurriedly spreading extra sheets on, Felicita's closest waiting-woman ushered Ludwig out into the corridor.  
"Now your Majesty, this is no place for a man," she clucked. "Go and occupy yourself, we'll be done by tomorrow morning, hopefully."  
"Tomorrow morning?" Ludwig asked, surprised and sure that he had misheard. "Does it take that long to deliver a child?"  
The waiting-woman laughed. "Sometimes longer! Now go, you'll see her Majesty and your child soon."  
As he strode down the hall, the tingly feeling of anticipation beginning to creep up his throat, one of the guards who had found Lovina stopped him.  
"This note for you, sir," he said quickly. "It was attached to the arrow."  
"Yes, thank you," Ludwig replied, not concentrating and pocketing the note unthinkingly.

Ludwig went straight to his older brother's chamber. By tomorrow, he would be a father! He knocked on the door, and when he heard the grandiose voice call, "Enter!", he opened the door and stepped inside.

Gilbert was sat his desk, leaning back in his chair, reading a letter. When he saw Ludwig he quickly folded the paper and slipped it underneath a pile of books.  
"Luddy!" he grinned. "What do you need from your awesome older brother?"  
"Felicita has gone into labour," the King replied, he deep voice decorated with nerves and excitement.  
"That's awesome!" Gilbert jumped up and thumped his taller brother's shoulder. "Where's Antonio? We need to get you a drink!"  
"He's probably with Lovina." Ludwig stopped suddenly. "Oh my God, she was shot!"  
"_What?_"  
"Lovina was walking past a window less than ten minutes ago, and she was shot in the arm with an arrow!" Reaching into his pocket, Ludwig drew out the note. "This note was attached to it."

Ludwig unfolded the small slip of paper, and his blood ran cold as he read the three words.

_End this war._

Oh God. His people were so angry with the war that they tried to kill his sister-in-law? Oh God, that meant he was a bad monarch. They were trying to overthrow him. He had put his whole family in danger by fighting against Francis.

Gilbert snatched the note and read it.  
"It was just some fanatic, I'm sure," he shrugged off. "Nothing to worry about! Now, let's get Antonio!"

They reached Lovina and Antonio's chamber just as Antonio stepped out into the hall. He looked stressed and slightly pale, but still smiled at them.  
"How is she?" asked Ludwig worriedly.  
"Oh, fine!" replied Antonio cheerfully. "The arrow came out cleanly, and she's asleep now."  
"What else is wrong?" Gilbert asked, eyes narrowing slightly at Antonio's uncommonly troubled expression.  
"Lovina! She -" Antonio stopped himself, then rolled his shoulders back, relaxing. "She's strong, she'll get through it." Brushing away him personal concerns to help Ludwig and Gilbert, he continued with, "So, what do you need?"

"Felicita's gone into labour!" cheered Gilbert, slapping Ludwig on the back proudly. "It's so awesome that he needs a drink!"  
"Oh, how amazing!" beamed Antonio, clapping excitedly. "Let's go!"

Ludwig was taken to the main parlour, drinks were called for, and he was settled onto a couch and Gilbert and Antonio chattered around him.  
"Have you thought about names?" asked Antonio eagerly.  
"Well, Felicita likes the name Luciano for a boy. For a girl, we think Hanna is a pretty name."  
"I can just picture a Luciano," laughed Gilbert, "with Felli's eyes, and brown hair all pushed back like you, Luddy!"  
The two older men chortled, and drained their glasses, while Ludwig sat between them, feeling rather out of place.

"I remember when you were born," the white-haired man said, rather reminiscently. "Me, Tonio and… Francis… pretended to play in the corridor outside Mother and Father's bedroom, just so that we could hear you being born!"  
"We had no idea how it happened, of course," chuckled Antonio.  
"All we knew is that Mother was shouting and screaming, we thought she was having a temper tantrum!"  
"Then we heard higher cries, and Gilbert shouted, "That's my new brother or sister!" and ran into the room, only to be pushed back out…" Antonio sighed contentedly, before frowning. "Wait, wasn't Felicita 20 weeks pregnant in July?"  
"Yes," replied Ludwig.  
"Would that only make her about 30 weeks now?" the suntanned King asked confusedly. "Can babies survive at only 30 weeks?"

Ludwig felt as if the bottom of his stomach dropped out. What if the baby didn't survive?

"Babies survive being born early," said Gilbert loudly. "They're awesome like that!" He grinned widely at his brother, who looked significantly more reassured.

He didn't mention that he'd never heard of a baby surviving such a premature birth.

* * *

Lovina awoke a little over an hour later. The first thing she noticed was the dull ache in her forearm, and the second was that her sister wasn't in the room – she would have expected the silly woman to be crying and making noise. Not that she didn't welcome the peace! It was just a little odd.  
"Oh your Majesty, you're awake!" A maid scurried to her bedside with a hot drink.  
"Where is Felicita?" she tried to say, but it came out as more of a mumble.  
"She's gone into labour, madam."  
"What?" Lovina sat up instantly, winced at the pain triggered by the movement, and tried to get out of bed. "I have to go to her! She'll be a wreck without me there to support her!"  
"Wait, madam…!" Before the maid could stop her, Lovina was out of bed and running down the corridor in her nightgown, to her sister's chamber. She threw open the door, entered and slammed it shut again. Felicita was lying on the bed, sweating and sobbing, face red. Several maids and a midwife were clustered around her, bathing her hot skin and reassuring her.

"Big sister!" gasped the younger twin, reaching feebly for Lovina before crying out as another contraction hit her. Lovina jostled through the maids and knelt next to her sister's bed, taking her hand.  
"Go on, Felicita, you can do this," she urged. Felicita nodded, and grimaced as she wailed again, long and loud.  
"_It hurts!_"  
"Of course it does! But when it's over, you'll have a baby." As much as she disliked Ludwig, Lovina wanted her twin to be happy, and if being married to the stupid potato and bearing his children made her happy, so be it.

"She's crowning quickly," said the midwife, examining Felicita. "This is one of the fastest labours I've ever seen," the middle-aged woman admitted. "It is probably a lot more painful that your average childbirth."  
As if on cue, Felicita let out a pain-filled screech and gripped Lovina's hand with a force that shocked the elder twin.  
"Go on, Felli!" said Lovina encouragingly – well, as encouragingly as she could. "Break my hand if you have to!"

Lovina lost track of how long she knelt there, knees slowly going numb, as Felicita screamed at the top of her lungs, on and on. In reality, it wasn't very long before she heard the midwife call, "One more push, your Majesty!"

She watched Felicita grimace, and draw a deep breath to push as hard as she could, letting out a long shriek as she did so. Out of the corner of her eye, Lovina saw the midwife and maids huddled around the child, but couldn't hear what they said. All she knew as that at last, the baby was born.

"Well done, Felicita," she breathed, kissing her sister's clammy forehead. She stood up, letting out a low whistle at how much her legs ached, and turned to the midwife.

"What gender is it?" she asked. The midwife looked up from the infant's face into Lovina's eyes, with deep sadness written all over her face, and Lovina understood with horrible clarity.

The room was completely silent, aside from Felicita's laboured breathing. The baby didn't cry.

"He was a boy," whispered the midwife. The baby was stillborn.

* * *

A huge crowd was gathered outside Lord Roderich and Lady Elizabeta's First Castle in Österreich. They were visibly worse off than they had been the previous year – thinner, with more threadbare clothes. Yet they watched their monarch, who was maneuvering the rickety wooden steps of his makeshift stage. The people were both shocked and proud that even Lord Roderich's clothes were out of fashion.

"My people," he called, across the crowd. His voice was sad, but strong. "I know that these last months have been hard. I know that this year's harvest has been as disappointing as last year's. I would understand if you should want to give up.

"But, giving up is not the way forward. To work our way out of our problems, we must lean on each other as we climb the ladder. I assure you that we will rise out of these problems as strong as ever, but we must support each other."

A murmur of assent rippled through the crowd, and people nodded in agreement.

"The Lady Elizabeta and myself have been feeling your pain," he continued, looking down briefly before once again, facing the crowd. "We feel guilty that the rations have been dwindling, and feel that it was our fault for not foreseeing that perhaps the rations might have had to stretch for longer than we hoped."

He took a deep, slightly shaking breath.

"About the war: if we cannot manage sending soldiers and surviving at the same time, we _will _pull out of the war. Österreich and Magyar come first."

* * *

" – and that was how I made an enemy out of Lord Toris!"  
"Well, generally, if you shove someone off a horse and break their arm, then stand over them jeering and insulting them, they don't think of you very highly," sighed Ludwig, with a slight smile. Usually he would have found Gilbert annoying by this point, but he was too excited about the baby – and the alcohol he had consumed definitely made the world look brighter.

"Your insults are brutal," chuckled Antonio. "Do you remember when you pushed King Arthur into that lake?"  
"That was the funniest thing in the history of history!" Gilbert cackled.  
"He hates you too," mused Antonio. "Lots of people hate you, Gilbert."  
"Only because I'm too awesome for them!"

There was a knock at the door, and all three men turned to see who it was. A footman stood in the doorway.  
"Your Majesty, the child has been born." Gilbert scrutinised the man's face, and saw none of the happiness that heralded the birth of an heir. It was straight and deadpan. Coupled with the fact that the baby was very early… the prince felt his heart sink, and hoped that Ludwig wouldn't be too upset.  
"Thank you!" The blond King leapt up and all but ran out of the room, making his way to the chamber where his wife and his baby were. His heart pounded, and he felt a grin spread across his face. He was a father!

When he got to the room, he didn't know what he was expecting, but something seemed a little _off_. Felicita was lying in bed, tears trickling down her face. This must have been just because of the childbirth, of course… Ludwig had been told it was extremely painful. Lovina was sitting in a chair beside her, stroking her twin's hair and looking surprisingly melancholy. Ludwig couldn't remember a time when she hadn't looked at least a little angry. The midwife stood against the wall, holding a small bundle, and a couple of maids were holding baskets of laundry, tidying the room. They curtseyed and hurried out as he entered, leaving him alone with Felicita, Lovina and the midwife.

"Where is the baby? Is it a boy or a girl?" asked Ludwig expectantly. Lovina stood up, brushed off her skirts and made for the door. When she reached Ludwig, she sighed, and looked up right into his face.

"Marianna is on her way," she said, her voice calm and sombre. "I'll have a chamber made up. Oh, and Ludwig –" her eyebrows dipped into a small frown, "it wasn't Felicita's fault. So don't you dare make this her fault."  
She left the room, leaving Ludwig wondering what it was that wasn't Felicita's fault, and why their older sister was coming to visit, and when was the last time Lovina had ever called him by his given name and not some variation of 'potato'.

"The baby is asleep, isn't he?" He must be, thought Ludwig. That would be the reason that the child was so silent. The midwife sighed, and held the bundle closer to her chest. She was fair-skinned, with mousy brown hair and blue eyes, and while she was taller than Lovina, she wasn't a giant.

"Sir, you may want to sit down," she said in a soft voice, gesturing to the chair that Lovina had just vacated. Puzzled, Ludwig did so. "I'm going to give the baby to you now," she continued quietly, stepping towards him, "and I'm very sorry, but these things do happen sometimes."  
"Is the baby ill?" asked Ludwig worriedly, holding out his arms for the child. The midwife shook her head, and placed the baby gently into his broad hands.

Ludwig looked down into the face of the child, swaddled in blankets, and his breath hitched. The face was so tiny and perfect: a bow-shaped mouth, closed eyes round and framed with pale eyelashes, smooth skin. Smooth skin, pale with a tinge of grey.  
"I don't understand…" Ludwig choked back a sob, feeling tears prick in his eyes. "Why is his skin so grey?" He knew, deep down, but he didn't want to admit it.  
That would be giving up on his firstborn.

"I'm very sorry, sir, but during the birth the umbilical cord tangled around the baby's neck. This lead to stillbirth."  
"Is it a – a boy or – a girl?"  
"He was a boy."  
"_Luciano_." Ludwig gulped down his tears, wiping a hand across his face while still supporting that slight little body in his lap with his remaining hand. "Oh, _Luciano_."

* * *

**I'm sorry! But you now, sex + no reliable contraception = pregnancy, so I had to find a way of reflecting that without bringing OCs in too early.  
As always, reviews are greatly appreciated~**

**Oh, and I'm sure everyone knows about the Diamond Jubilee. Guess where I'll be over the bank holiday? Germany! :P Going to do all the touristy stuff in Berlin. We're going now so that my parents don't have to take any extra days off work. I'll be writing during flights and stuff, so you might get some oneshots next week!**


	9. Support

******Here it is~ Marianna is Nutty Nerd's character for San Marino - I hope she's in character! I'm not the happiest with this chapter (had to cut out a random subplot) but I'm happy that this story is moving forwards! The next couple of chapters will see us drawing closer to the climax of the fic!**

******Oh, and in my headcanon, Ludwig is naive to the facts of life. This is noticeable here.**

* * *

Chapter 8 - Support

_verb_

_to sustain a person, the mind, spirits, courage, etc. under trial or affliction_

* * *

The morning was grey and overcast when the Lady Marianna arrived. She greeted Lovina and Antonio with loving hugs.  
"How are you both?" she asked, smiling warmly. The eldest Vargas sister was wearing a blue velvet gown with gold trimmings, rather old-fashioned but beautiful. Her thick, chestnut-brown hair was secured in a bun, held in a blue ribbon. Her resemblance to her sisters was obvious, but she had a more motherly, mature air about her.  
"And of course, how is Felicita?" Her tone wilted as she thought of her poor little sister.

"_She's not very good_," replied Lovina sadly, switching to their native dialect out of habit. "_She's heartbroken, but she's carrying on. It's the potato bastard who's causing the most trouble_."  
"_Why, what has he done?_" Marianna was instantly on edge.  
"_He's avoiding her. He hasn't kissed or embraced her since the delivery, and all he says is 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry'. Felicita shouldn't be watching him grieve – they should be grieving together!_"  
"I'll talk to him," promised Marianna.

* * *

"Big sister!" Felicita sat up instantly and threw her arms out, elated. Marianna embraced her tightly, and they talked for a long time. Felicita began to cry again, but she was happy that her older sister had come to be with her, and she dried her eyes knowing that a problem shared was a problem halved. Coupled with the fact that she had a wonderful support system with Lovina, Antonio, Gilbert, and now Marianna, Felicita was steadily recovering.

If only – this was what brought the sadness back – Ludwig could rely on them too. Felicita had no idea what he was thinking or how he was feeling.

Since Felicita had been ordered to stay in bed for no less than ten days after her delivery, the rest of the family was in the chamber; Marianna sitting on the edge of the bed, Lovina and Antonio in chairs beside the bed, Gilbert by the window, and Ludwig in the doorway. The afternoon was enjoyable, since everybody was making an effort to get along for Felicita's sake. When it got to around four o'clock, Antonio suggested tea.

"I'll get it," said Ludwig quickly, leaving the room before anyone could protest, and a sad silence fell.  
"Has he been like this since –?" Marianna asked, trailing off uncertainly. The others nodded.  
"_Bastard_," muttered Lovina. Marianna stood up, smoothed down her gown, and smiled brightly.  
"I'll be right back."

* * *

Marianna had to hurry down three corridors before her younger brother-in-law was in sight.  
"Ludwig!"  
The tall man turned around, and let out a small sigh. He didn't want to talk to anyone, and just like her sisters, Marianna was chatty.  
"What do you need?"

"Oh, I don't need anything," smiled Marianna. "I just want to talk to you."  
There was a window seat carved into the wall beside them, with a thick blanket it in to cushion the hard stone. Marianna sat down and patted the space next to her. Ludwig obliged, and resigned himself to some gossip that seemed so superficial to him there days.

"How are you?"  
Ludwig frowned. She was asking him about himself? "I'm fine."  
"I don't think so," replied Marianna, shaking her head. "Anyone can see that you are very upset."  
"_Really?_" Ludwig felt like kicking himself. Felicita was the one that needed all the care and attention. This whole mess was his fault, after all, so he was trying to make himself scarce. He had failed for the second time. He supposed Marianna had come to tell him off.  
"Of course, that's the natural way of things," continued Marianna. "You lost your first child! But can't you see that Felicita needs you?"

"Needs me?" Ludwig let out a noise that was halfway between a cough and a sarcastic laugh. "I caused this! If anything, she should want nothing to do with me!"  
"What do you mean, you caused this?" Marianna tipped her head to the side, a gesture so reminiscent of Felicita that Ludwig nearly started crying then and there.  
"Well… I didn't make her rest throughout the pregnancy. And of course, I was the one who… made the child… _happen_…" Ludwig coughed, mortified. "Look at her, she's so perfect! Alone she could have delivered a baby as flawless as she is… which means I'm the one to blame."

Instead of looking angry or horrified, as Ludwig expected her to look, Marianna looked slightly amused.  
"Firstly, she couldn't have had a baby on her own," the older woman said, sounding as though she was holding in a laugh. "You need a man _and_ a woman to make a child. Secondly, weren't you told that these things happen without anyone being at fault? It's just, what's the word? Spontaneous? They just happen."  
"I was told," said Ludwig quietly. "But I didn't believe her."  
"Then believe me, and go back to Felicita, and cry together. All she wants is to have you back!" Marianna slapped his shoulder encouragingly, and they both stood up, making their way back to Felicita's chamber.

All the talk stopped when Ludwig appeared at the door, his eyes misty.  
"Felicita…"  
His wife could see that even though he was close to tears, he looked as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He surged forward and collapsed to his knees at her bedside, yet he still didn't cry. Only when Marianna appeared to usher Gilbert, Antonio and Lovina out did he begin to weep.

After half an hour of sobbing and talking together, Ludwig held his wife warmly. He was still sad, of course, but he had been released.

* * *

November

"What?" Natalya jumped out of her chair, face twisted with anger. "My brother wants them back, so _go and get them back_!" she cried in a shrill voice.  
"Sit down, little sister," said Ivan, his honeyed smile on display for her and the rest of the council to see. "Toris and Eduard and Raisa are just being a little bit silly. They'll change their minds and come home soon enough."

Natalya sat back down reluctantly, hand reaching into one of her deep pockets to fondle the small knife hidden there. She loved knives. They were robust, resolute, with a sole purpose, and yet rather beautiful.

They reminded her of herself.

Ivan's tone was charmingly false, as if he was talking to a baby.

"Send more soldiers. I'll make them come home. I'll fight them, _da_?"

* * *

"Ivan's declaring war?" Toris massaged his temples anxiously. "I knew this would happen. This was a bad idea."  
"Don't give up, Liet!" Felicja brought her hand down on the table. "We are going to totally beat him! Cold soldiers are like, stupid! I bet half of them will get lost on the way to Polska and stuff!"

"We have calculated that a regiment of soldiers will have arrived in a minimum of three days, maximum seven," said the Head General, smiling fondly at Felicja. He was an old friend of her father's, and was almost an uncle to the fiery young Lady.  
"That's plenty of time!" declared Felicja. "Our army is totally strong, station them at the border and we'll just block them!"  
"As you wish, my Lady."

When the General left, Toris leant back in his chair and closed his eyes.  
"Do you really think we can win this, Felicja?" he asked quietly.  
"Totally," was the reply, and Toris had to chuckle. Felicja wasn't embarrassed in the least that she spoke like the servants who had raised her.  
"Do you think we should tell Eduard and Raisa?"  
"Eduard, yes, but not Raisa. She needs to be like, as calm as possible before the delivery," Felicja said tenderly. It seemed Raisa had fallen pregnant on her and Eduard's wedding night, and her swollen belly now looked disproportionate to her small frame. Felicja was as excited as if it was her own child; she organized the nurseries in each house in Polska, Lietuva, Eesti and Latvija, she hired extra nursemaids even though Raisa's own nurse Annina was already set up to care for the child, at every turn she made sure that Raisa was comfortable, relaxed and reassured.

"She's young, but not stupid," replied Toris. "She will find out about the oncoming invasion."  
"Yes, but if we don't talk about it, she won't think it's a problem. Which it isn't," said Felicja resolutely. Toris nodded in agreement, and a comfortable silence fell.  
"Oh, Felicja?"  
"Yes?"  
"Eduard and Raisa married less than a year ago, and already she is pregnant. We have been married nearly four years, so why don't we have a child?"

Felicja sighed exaggeratedly. "Do you want me to _explain_?"

* * *

Queen Ingrid was a talented violin player. She had started lessons at the age of four, and now, in her twenties, she still made a point of practising at least once a week. She enjoyed going into a still room somewhere in the castle, taking out her instrument, and playing the mood of the castle – on holidays, the music would be bright and happy, and when her fellow royals were upset, the music became sadder. The melodies would echo through the castle, background music to their daily lives.

Today, her exquisitely carved violin was resting under her chin, her eyes were closed, and she was drawing her bow back and forth in a calm and rather neutral tune.

"_Cold_ s'ldiers?" Berwald and Kristiina were in a meeting with their council. Of course they didn't know it, but it was almost as if Lady Felicja Laurinatis had made a prediction; a regiment of soldiers, sent by Ivan to attack Baltija, had gotten lost on the way and had ended up in the far east of the Kingdom of Fire and Ice. Thinking it to be Eesti, they had destroyed several villages, and now the problem needed to be addressed.

"We have to stop them!" said Tiina. Of course, they needed to stop the injury of innocent people. "Why does this need to be discussed?"  
"B'cause Ivan might th'nk s'an attack." Berwald took off his spectacles and polish them on the cuff of his sleeve. "W'have t'consider't carefully."  
Tiina looked bemused.  
"Sorry, Berwald, but I don't really understand," she said, as sweet as ever, but with a hint of disagreement in her tone. "We can stop Ivan's soldiers killing innocent citizens, or we can sit and watch them be killed. I don't really see what the issue is here."

"'S'not that s'mple," Berwald said shortly.  
"Then please explain it to me, dear, because I don't understand why it can't be that simple." Tiina was starting to get a bit irritated – she might not have been a king, but she understood the situation and she didn't know why Berwald was complicating matters.

"Y'wouldn't understand."  
"Well, you could try to explain it."  
"No, y'wouldn't understand."  
"Berwald." Tiina's voice became dangerously syrupy, and she smiled while underneath, she was simmering. "I would like very much if you were to include me in this decision, seeing as they are attacking Suomi, which is my homeland. You may have always been a royal, but I haven't, and I feel keenly the pain of the people that used to surround me. So _please_."

Berwald sighed. Couldn't she see that he was trying to protect her? He didn't want her to worry, and he certainly didn't want to end up in a war with Ivan.  
"No," he replied, face expressionless. And that was when Tiina snapped.

"You think I'm incapable!" she snarled, leaping to her feet. Her wavy hair swished into her face, and she brushed it back angrily. "I may be your wife, but that doesn't give you the right to belittle me! So respect my intelligence and give me a straight answer!"

Berwald was stupefied at her violent reaction, and stared at his wife blankly. He hadn't seen her so… assertive before. Then again, a situation like this had never happened, and he was being a little unfair by making out that she didn't understand the politics of their position.  
Still, he didn't say a word.  
"Fine!" Tiina stormed out of the room.

Ingrid heard her stamping down the corridor as her song came to a close, and decided that her next piece of music would have a little more discord in it.

* * *

Two days later, Ivan's soldiers were still plundering villages, steadily moving westward, Ingrid's latest tune was fiery, repetitive, with crescendos and swooping notes, and Berwald and Kristiina were still fighting.

"Why haven't they reconciled yet?" asked Freyr as Tiina left the room, and Berwald got up to follow her for the umpteenth time.  
"Politics," said Ingrid boredly, inspecting her fingernails. "Tiina doesn't want the people in Suomi to be killed. Berwald doesn't want a war and he doesn't want Tiina to be involved in the decisions. Somehow they can't compromise. Well, Berwald is trying to talk to her, but she's having none of it. She won't even share a chamber with him until he takes her opinion into consideration."

"Isn't she overreacting slightly?" asked the teenage prince, cocking an eyebrow.  
"I see her point of view," replied Ingrid, mirroring her younger brother's expression. "You be thankful that Mathias listens to me, or we wouldn't be married in the first place."

* * *

It was late at night, four days after Berwald and Tiina's initial argument. Tiina was sitting at Berwald's desk, scribbling a short note. She was fully dressed, complete with a long woollen cloak and boots.

_Dear Berwald,_

_Forgive me for leaving, but I need to remove those soldiers from Suomi. I will be living in my house there. Do not try and convince me to return before all is well again. Rest assured I will come back when there is peace._

_Your loving wife,_

_Kristiina_

Putting the pen down, she folded the note, and wrote _Berwald _on the front in her clear, sloping handwriting, before leaving it on the desk and leaving the study, flicking out the gas lamp as she went.

She crept into their chamber – well, Berwald's chamber for now, since she had been sleeping in a spare room. Her husband was asleep, his stern face relaxed in slumber. He didn't look like he would deny protection to innocent people for the sake of political games, but that was what he had done. Tiina pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead and whispered, "Goodbye,"

With that, she left the castle, and climbed into the carriage she had secretly arranged for earlier in the day. As she rattled away from the centre of the kingdom, further east into the region of Suomi, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was the right thing to do.

* * *

One week later, the last of Ivan's soldiers were forcibly removed from the Kingdom of Fire and Ice. After a few finalising preparations, Tiina was on her way home.

She arrived as the chilly November day was drawing to a close, and the sky was alight with indigo. As she stepped out of the carriage, Berwald tore into the courtyard and stopped just in front of her, breathing heavily. His face was anxious, his eyes wide – he was hoping, praying that Tiina was back for good. He had been given the shock of his life when he woke up to find the letter on his desk, and had spent the days brooding on whether Tiina had really gone to fight the invasion, or whether she had just gotten tired of him.

Tiina locked eyes with her husband, and wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him into a tight embrace. Berwald slowly put his arms around her, and kissed her hair. She was back.

"I missed you," she mumbled into his chest, giving him a brief squeeze before pulling back. "But I don't regret what I did, not for a minute."

Berwald nodded. He could see it now. She was strong, far stronger than he had given her credit for. He realised that her title as Queen shouldn't be simply an honour, a title - it was her duty, as his was King. She wasn't just a beautiful trophy wife (although she was still beautiful, of course), she was intelligent.

"Missed y'too." He didn't need to say anything else. Tiina knew that he understood.

They walked back into the castle together, arms linked, Tiina snugged into Berwald's shoulder. They were greeted with a sumptuous meal and warm conversation. Mathias cheered about how they were all a family again, Ingrid rolled her eyes and said how thankful she was that she was no longer the only woman in the household and Freyr shot Tiina smiles when he knew his older sister wasn't looking. That night Tiina rejoined Berwald in _their _chamber.

* * *

_December_

Rodel's room was large and warm, with a fire crackling merrily in the grate. The aged man sat in a rocking chair, as always, and King Francis sat opposite him in another chair.

Rodel's golden hair of his youth had faded to a colour between dull blond and grey, and his long beard hung down to his chest. There were lines on his face, around his mouth and his tired eyes. But the most heartbreaking thing, for Francis, was the way his father looked at him – as though they had only just met.

"It's me, Father. Your _son_, Francis," the King sighed. Suddenly, Rodel's eyes lit up with recognition, and Francis felt his heart lift.  
"Francis!" Rodel looked around distractedly. "Where's your mother? She hasn't visited me for days!"

Francis shut his eyes, and sat back in the chair. Just when he thought his father was getting better, something like this would happen and dash his hopes.

"Mother is not with us anymore," he said slowly. "She passed away years ago."  
Rodel appeared not to react to the news.  
"Well, fetch your sister!" he said irritably. "I want to see her right now! I need to know her progress."  
"Progress, Father?"  
"In her _lessons_." Rodel rolled his eyes. "Stupid boy."  
"Emilie doesn't have lessons anymore. Anyway, she can't come at this minute, she's organising the holiday meal."

"What do you mean, organising the holiday meal?" Rodel shook his head knowingly. "You need to get better at telling jokes, my boy! She's only eight years old!"  
"Father, she's twenty-two." He was worse than usual today.

"Twenty-two?" thundered the old man, and Francis winced. "Impossible! She's younger than you, and you are only eighteen!"  
"I'm turning thirty-two in July," the King whispered.  
"Speak up, boy!"  
"Nothing, Father. Would you like to join us for dinner?"  
"No, no, no," replied Rodel, waving his hand. "Leave me alone. You're all mad, the lot of you," he said grumpily, turning his head away from his only son and closing his eyes.

* * *

**You have no idea how long I planned to get Raisa pregnant, seriously. In the first draft, it happened in like, Chapter 5 XD The Berwald and Tiina thing was partly written as a stand against moe-moe-uke-uke Finland, who has no brains/assertiveness/masculine traits. I don't like to see characters flattened in this way, and therefore fem!Finn makes up for it :P**

**So, reviews, who do you want to see more of? Constructive criticism welcome.**


	10. Safety

**First of all, I skipped out another flimming birth scene because I didn't want to write that. ****Second, I'm lagging behind with my new chapters, so if worst comes to worst (e.g. I don't write anything this weekend) you may not get your scheduled update next Friday. Since I'm still at school, grr.**

**But yeah! This is where I started planning all those months ago when this little idea popped into my head. The last part, anyway. Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 9 - Safety

_noun_

_freedom from the occurrence or risk of injury, danger or loss_  
_the action of 'keeping safe'_

* * *

_February_

Eduard paced back and forth around the sitting room, the trembling that he had been so prone to during his adolescence in Ivan's castle returning.  
"Do you want to talk about something?" asked Toris from the couch.  
"Maybe that would be a good idea." Eduard stopped at the window. "How is the fighting going – with Ivan I m-mean?"  
"Um, fine," Toris replied, brushing his slightly outgrown hair behind his ear and making a mental note to get it cut. "Nobody has gained or lost any ground. It's rather half-hearted, actually."  
"Good, very good." Eduard held out his hands, and grimaced when he saw them visibly fluttering. "Oh, _Toris_! I'm so nervous!"  
"Have another drink," said the older man encouragingly, motioning for him to sit down. "Everything will be _fine_," he added.

Unlike King Ludwig (who they had heard rumours about, concerning his wife and a stillborn baby) both men had a fair idea of what happened during and after childbirth. Raisa's waters had broken roughly two hours before, and for all they knew she could be delivering at that moment. But as men, they had been banished downstairs.

"I have read about childbirth," whispered Eduard, as if he was discussing something illegal. "Breech births, obstructed labour… a million things could go wrong, and she's so young, her _hips_ –"  
"Eduard." Toris laid a hand on his cousin's shoulder, a tense smile on his face. "Worrying won't get us anywhere." Even as he said it, his stomach was starting to cramp, a sure sign of his true feelings. "Let us discuss something else?"

Eduard nodded, breathing deeply in an attempt to calm his nerves, and the pair sat silently as they tried to thing of something to talk about. They didn't have very much in common, it was true…

"Liet!" Felicja pranced into the room, a spring in her step and a grin on her face, seemingly unaware that her usually immaculate gown was wrinkled and that her hair wasn't a picture of neatness. "Eduard, you have to come like, right now! The baby's _perfect_," she cooed, grabbing the men's hands and pulling them right out off the couch.

"Do I have a son or a d-daughter?" asked Eduard, his voice wobbling with excitement. The trio hastened up the grand staircase of Lady Johanna's comfortable house, along the landing to the chamber where Raisa and the baby awaited them.  
"I'm not telling you!" teased Felicja.

They burst into the room, but Raisa didn't jump. She was sitting up under the covers, cradling a small bundle. All her nervous tremors were gone. She was leaning over slightly, shoulders sagged. But despite all this, her limp hair, face damp with sweat and tears, and expression of pure, unadulterated exhaustion, in Eduard's eyes she was the most beautiful girl in the world. She smiled, completely at peace, and she held out the bundle to her husband. Eduard dashed forwards and cradled the baby.

He was perfection incarnate. And when he opened his eyes, he gazed up at his father with orbs of a deep, dulcet blue. Eduard felt his heart swell with adoration, and he held his new son close, marveling at how someone as ordinary, as _boring_, even, as he could have created something so… _sublime_.

"Do you like the name Aleksandr?" he murmured, half to Raisa and half to the little boy. Raisa nodded tiredly, wanting nothing more than to drift off into sleep now that her work was done. Aleksandr blinked slowly, and Eduard took that as a sign of approval.

* * *

_March_

"We apologise, Ludwig," said Roderich formally, eyes downcast. They were in the official throne room – Ludwig and Felicita seated, and Roderich and Elizabeta standing in front of them, hands entwined. "But we must withdraw from this war."

Ludwig was silent – he just stared at his cousin.

"You know of our troubles with famine, so there is simply no way for us to support ourselves."

More silence. Felicita looked from her husband to her cousins-in-law worriedly, not wanting any discord between them. The couple had lost weight, she noticed. Were they literally giving their own food to their people, or were they just growing thinner on worry?

"We won't be able to send any more soldiers," said Roderich clearly, frowning at the King's lack of reply. When he finally stirred, everyone relaxed slightly before tensing a little in anticipation of his reply.

"Then perhaps it wasn't such a good idea that I sent a few battalions to Baltija as congratulations on the new baby, to help with their fight against Ivan."

* * *

_April_

"That meddling fool!" hissed Natalya. She was curled up in a large armchair, clutching a knife and contemplating running it down the stone wall beside her, in order to vent her anger. "Why does he interfere with my big brother and our stupid farmer cousins!"

"Natalya, the doctor is here," called Katyusha, stepping slightly fearfully into the morning room where her sister sat, muttering to herself and scowling. This was not the first time that the Braginsky family had sought medical help for their youngest sibling – but that had been a horrible experience for all. However, this new doctor, a Dr. Julian Koller, was said to be different from the others in his field. Katyusha and Ivan hoped that this would be enough for Natalya.

Laying her eyes on her little sister, Katyusha was once again struck at how much like their mother she looked. Katyusha and Ivan took after their father, with beige-blond hair and chunky figures, although Katyusha had the pale blue eyes of the mother. Natalya was different; aside from her eyes, identical to their father's, she was all Mother. But the look of pure contempt that Natalya gave her was unlike any Katyusha had ever seen.

"I don't want to see him," growled the seventeen-year-old, pressing herself back into her armchair.  
"Little sister, you promised!" cried Katyusha, her shoulders drooping and causing her very large bust to bounce in a way that made Natalya sick. She wished her older sister would grow up.  
"I know exactly what he's going to do, and you remember what they did last time."

Katyusha almost began to cry at the memory of checking on how her sister and the doctor were doing, and finding her tied to a chair, gagged, while the doctor shouted at her. He had said that he was curing her, but all it did was make Natalya refuse to look either of her siblings in the eye for nearly three weeks.

"Dr. Koller says that he doesn't use those methods!"  
"He's lying," stated Natalya. "They get pleasure from doing that to patients."

"Good afternoon!" came a jolly voice from the doorway. "May I come in?"  
Both princesses turned to the source of the voice. A man stood in the doorway – he had sandy-brown and rather unruly hair, hazel-green eyes, and a face that looked like it was sculpted for smiling. The maid who had escorted him bobbed a nervous curtsey and hurried off, not wanting to be around when Natalya exploded.

But Natalya didn't want to explode.  
"You're the doctor?" It wasn't a self-assured statement, like so much of what she said to other people. She was honestly shocked at his appearance. She had expected a self-righteous old man who would introduce himself sharply and proceed to lecture on what he was feeling, as if he knew, and then order her to feel differently. This man looked almost… dare she say it… _kind_.

"I am indeed! The name is Koller, but you may call me Julian." He sat down in the armchair opposite Natalya and smiled at her, before turning his head to Katyusha and saying, "If you wish to stay, you can, but it isn't necessary."

"I'll go! Have fun, little sister!" Katyusha skipped from the room, and Natalya turned her attention to Dr. Koller. His eyes weren't following her sister's breasts, as she had expected they would, but were fixed on her.

"So, to start," began Dr. Koller, pulling a pencil and a worn notebook from his pocket, flipping it to a new page, "during these sessions, may I call you Natalya?"  
"_What?_" Nobody of a lower station that her had ever had the nerve to ask that! "Of course not! What makes you think you could ask that?"  
"I like these appointments to be informal, friendly," smiled Dr. Koller, "and I find that this is best achieved when we are equal. You, of course, would call me Julian. It makes our talking more free."

"What do you mean, talking?" Natalya asked suspiciously. Doctors didn't _talk_.  
"I mean our conversing. My studies over the years have proved that everybody needs somebody to talk to, and if they can't talk to those around them, they still benefit from talking to a doctor."

Natalya scrutisined him as harshly as she could, but he didn't flinch or look away. She finally deduced that he was telling the truth.  
"Fine."  
"Wonderful!" Julian clapped his hands and smiled. "As I said, everybody needs someone to talk to. You don't talk to your brother and sister much, do you?"

* * *

_June_

It was a beautiful summer day, with a warm blue sky and a fresh breeze to keep the heat from becoming uncomfortable. A perfect day for a royal parade in all ways but one: the discord in the air.

In the open-topped carriage, Amelia was the only one who couldn't feel it. She chattered and waved obliviously, not noticing the unhappy or downright angry expressions on the faces of the people. Madeline sat next to her, almost drowning in unease, and opposite them Arthur was frowning.  
"Shouldn't have done this… all because of him… have to pick up the slack… stupid idea… dangerous…"  
"Um, Arthur?" Madeline asked tentatively. "May I ask you what's wrong?"

Arthur sighed and ran a hand through his hair.  
"Lars and Bella have finally given in," he said grimly. "They held out valiantly, but it came to a point where… well, where they couldn't continue. Now the Britannic Kingdom has to send even more men to make up for it, and as you can tell, the people aren't happy."

They turned a cobbled corner, onto a main street, and Arthur let out a curse. Since Madeline and Amelia were sitting opposite him, they were actually riding backward, and both twisted around, trying to see what was wrong.

There was a crowd further up the street, with banners and flags, shouting. The banners read "No More War!", "Follow Nederland!" and "Stop Useless Deaths!".  
"Are they protesting?" asked Amelia, sounding almost excited. She'd never been this close to a proper rally before.  
"Yes they are, and I don't know what you're sounding so bloody _happy_ about," snapped Arthur. "We should turn around!"  
But the carriage was rattling forwards faster than it seemed it should, and before long they had to stop just a few feet away from the crowd. The guards who had been marching behind the carriage moved to the front, beside the horses, protecting the royal family.

Arthur stood up in the carriage, intent on calming his angry citizens.  
"I know that you are against this war," he began, but was cut off by an object being lobbed into the carriage: a sharp piece of brick. It caught Amelia on the arm and ripped her sleeve. A thin line of blood appeared, filling the small gash and beginning to trickle down her upper arm.

She let out a shriek, more of shock than anything else, and the crowd became a mob, waving their banners madly and yelling with all their might. The horses whinnied with fright and tried to prance backwards.  
"Driver, turn around!" bellowed Arthur, falling back into his seat. The driver managed to get the frantic horses under control enough to turn the carriage around and canter back down the main road.

"That's it," said Arthur decisively, as Madeline hugged her sister close and inspected the wound on her arm. Amelia was babbling about how 'crazy' everything was – such a strong girl, thought Arthur fondly, before he turned back to the matter at hand. "Girls, I've been planning this for a while: I'm sending you two away to safety, away from this war, as soon as I can."

* * *

_Dear Freyr,_

_Happy seventeenth birthday! I'm writing this well in advance, so that it arrives on time. Of course, it might arrive before your birthday, and now that you've opened it, I suppose it isn't a surprise. Oh dear, I should really have thought about that before I decided to write. Well, no matter, maybe I'll write 'Birthday' on the parcel!_

_Oh, and a greeting to her Majesty Ingrid if she is reading. (I think she may read your letters, Freyr. She wrote back to me once, when I told you about our new record. She approved of my taste in music.)_

_I'm just wondering how you are. Me and Basch have been hearing the most dreadful gunfire recently – it was keeping me awake at night, so I switched chambers for the time being. Sometimes I still hear it though. You probably don't hear a thing, I'm jealous! I hope you and your family are all fine. Well, better than fine, of course. As well as possible. But fine at least. Oh, you must think these letters so boring! I'll cut short your misery: your gift is enclosed. I hope you like it._

_Basch sends his good wishes, and I hope that we can all see each other very soon!_

_Your Lili_

* * *

_July_

It was Madeline and Amelia's birthday once again. Madeline was sitting in her chamber on the evening of the ball, having her hair brushed by a maid. She was already dressed in her red gown, the favourite she had worn to last year's ball. It was strange, it seemed like hardly any time at all had passed since now and then – but at the same time it felt like decades. Decades since she had last seen Gilbert. With that thought, her heart clenched, and she had to bite her lip to stop herself from suddenly crying.

The ballroom was oddly empty. Bella and Lars had declined their invitations – _it will be too awkward_, Bella had written to them, _since we have failed you in such a manner_ – and Tiina was ill, so Berwald had stayed with her. The only royals attending were Mathias, Ingrid, Freyr and Francis, the latter looking peaky and exhausted.

"Maddie, have you seen how moody Ingrid is?" chuckled Amelia. The sisters were huddled in the corner of the room, near the refreshment table, and were watching Mathias and his wife waltz. Ingrid has just stamped on his foot particularly nastily after he has whispered something to her. "I don't know what he sees in her!"  
"Yes…" Madeline blinked, trying to clear Gilbert from her mind. Freyr wandered over, holding two glasses of wine. His expression was faraway, but he pulled himself into focus when he found the birthday girls.  
"Happy birthday," he stated, giving them the wine. "What's wrong?" he asked Madeline, whose face had gone white with the concentration of trying to hold herself together.

"Nothing," she choked, looking away to try and hide her face. Amelia looked over and realised with a start that her twin was close to tears.  
"Maddie! What's wrong?"

The girl in question just shook her head, took a glass from Freyr and drained the alcohol.  
"What are you thinking about, Freyr?" she countered with a hesitant smile, trying to deflect the attention from herself.  
"Li – _nothing_."  
"What's 'Linothing'?" asked Amelia teasingly. "Tell us, Freyr!"  
While her sister bombarded him with questions and the pale-haired prince adamantly refused to tell her anything, Madeline breathed out deeply, closing her eyes. She would survive this evening.

* * *

Once the ball was over, their guests had retired upstairs or left, Arthur, Francis, Amelia and Madeline were left in the ballroom. Francis kissed the girls and went upstairs. A slightly tipsy Arthur was sitting on one of the large chairs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Girls, before you go – !" The twins, who had been about to slip up to their chambers, stopped. "Remember I told you I was sending you away?"  
"Ugh, were you actually serious about that?" groaned Amelia. She had been hoping Arthur wasn't going to stick to his threat.  
"Of course I was, you ruddy ungrateful girl! I had to confirm it, was all."  
"So, where are we going?" asked Madeline morosely.

"The Eastern Kingdom. Me and Chun-Yan were close once – she agreed to host you until the war is good and done."

* * *

**The REAL drama begins here! Oh, did I mention that all this drama before hasn't been _real _drama? ;) Hopefully my writing will speed up now that I have a definite - well, practically definite - plan from now until the end of the story.**

**I love Aleksandr. More that you can imagine.**

**I've also written the epilogue in my head :3**

**Oh, and the lovely Nutty Nerd is helping me design a cover for Breaking Apart! Since I have no concept of poses, she is kindly drawing the lineart which I will then colour. I've been practicing my colouring, I think I've improved :D**

**I love Julian Koller too. Him and Natalya are getting a spin-off fic, if you guys would be interested in reading that. Natalya's mental issues revealed~!**

**So, leave a review! What you liked, didn't like, constructive criticism. Who do you want to see more of? Would you like a spin-off oneshot of any sort, including any characters? Put it all in your review, which do spur my writing, I'll have you know. So yeah - have a nice weekend!**


	11. Journey

**Short chapter, feel free to kill me. I'm just getting so much inspiration for anything other than this, but I'm dying to finish it! So bear with me, the updates will even out when the summer holidays finally arrive. And don't forget to vote on my poll on what you want to read from me next.**

* * *

Chapter 10 - Journey

_noun_

_a traveling from one place to another, usually taking a rather long time_

* * *

One week after their birthday, Madeline was sitting in a luxurious train carriage, the side of her forehead resting against the window. It was unseasonably cloudy outside. On the platform she could see Arthur ordering the guards to place various trunks and cases in different compartments, and Amelia flicking through an old Eastern Language schoolbook, trying to remember those lessons they had both had so many years ago.

Her quiet reverie was disturbed by a polite knock on the door. Through the frosted glass she could see the outline of a guard. With a sigh, she pulled herself up, and opened the door. It was the guard who delivered her letters to Gilbert.  
"Sorry to disturb you, my Lady," he said, as formally as his accent could allow, "but I was just wondering if you need to me to send… one last letter."

Of course. She wouldn't have any chance to contact Gilbert from the Eastern Kingdom.

"Can you wait for one minute?" Madeline hurriedly opened her travel bag, which held a writing set, and set about writing a short letter.

_Dearest Gilbert,_

_Being sent to Eastern Kingdom. Do not reply._

_Love,_

_Madeline_

She sealed it into an envelope with a grim expression and handed it to the guard. He pocketed it, and doffed his cap to her.  
"Best of luck in the Eastern Kingdom, my Lady," he said politely, before leaving the carriage. Madeline sat back down, and stared out of the window once more.

* * *

_August_

Three weeks later – a train from the Capital to the coast, where a grand ship took the twins along the trade route to the shores of the Eastern Kingdom, from where they took another train and then a carriage directly to the Grand Palace – Madeline and Amelia were standing at the beginning of a long pathway, leading up to the illustrious palace, and all they could do was stare.

It was like nothing they'd ever seen. It was sprawling, outwards rather than up. The earthy brown roof was enormous, and the edges curled exotically. The walls themselves were a deep red, and looked nothing at all like the grey castles that the twins were used to. The evening sunlight cast a rosy glow on the building, making it look like a picture in a storybook.

Presently two figures approached them. One was a servant, holding a parasol above the second figure, who was definitely male. He had rather outgrown black hair, framing his angular face, and slanted, deep brown eyes. His eyebrows were curiously thick.  
"You are our guests," he stated, in complete monotone, bowing from the waist. He spoke in accented Western Language.  
"That's us!" exclaimed Amelia, curtseying excitedly. Madeline curtseyed too, but stayed wary. Their host – or host's son, nephew, or cousin – seemed cold.

"The Empress awaits you."

* * *

Their cases were presumably being taken to their quarters while the girls were led down a long corridor. Traditional Eastern art adorned the warmly-coloured walls. Their new guide, who had introduced himself as the Empress' nephew Xiang, led them, while two female attendants and one guard followed behind.

Upon entrance to the throne room, the servants threw themselves to the floor in dramatic bows, while Xiang repeated his low bow. Madeline sunk into a deep and respectful curtsey, and elbowed Amelia to do the same. The Empress sat on her throne before them. Four more seats, less impressive but still rather fancy, were arranged around her – a man sat to her right, and two women on her left. One chair was empty.

"You may rise," she said. Her Western Language was fluent, but had a sharp accent. Madeline looked up, and took in the appearance of her host.

Empress Chun-Yan was small – she appeared so on the throne and if she stood, she would probably be a good few inches shorter than Madeline and Amelia. In fact, the two Western girls were some of the tallest in the room, beaten only by the tallest male guards, who stood with impressive swords on either side of the throne. Her features were delicate, but her expression was strong. She looked like a woman that nobody would want to cross. Something that Madeline noticed was that her eyes; while they had the slant that was typical of citizens of the East, they were smaller than Xiang's. In fact, looking at the other people in the room, she realised that in fact it was Xiang who had large eyes.

"Honoured Empress," Madeline began in hesitant Eastern Language, "we are so grateful that you should host us in our time of need." This speech had been drummed into her by Arthur.  
"You are most welcome," Chun-Yan replied, acknowledging Madeline with a nod. It was almost comical how Amelia and Madeline were always replied to in Western Language, even when they had spoken in Eastern. "Your godfather and I have known each other many years."  
Her eyes flickered over to Xiang, but Amelia interrupted with an exclamation of, "This palace is _amazing_! So _huge_!"

"I am glad you like it," smiled Chun-Yan tightly. Her eyes spoke irritation – perhaps Amelia's cry had been a little on the loud side? "May I introduce my cousins and closest advisors."  
She gestured to the man and women sitting beside her. "Sakura –" The woman with straight, shoulder-length black hair stood up, and bowed from the waist, as Xiang had. She wore a rather plain, navy-blue kimono, and her eyes were deep, dark, and expressionless. She exuded politeness, but also an air of endurance, as if it were a chore for her to be so.

" – Yong Soo, –" The man jumped up, bowed quickly and grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly and giving them a little wave. He was wearing a blue-and-white garment, a sort of flowing robe. Chun-Yan rolled her eyes before saying, " – and Mei."

The third woman, no more than a girl really, bowed and smiled. Her clothes were similar to Yong Soo's, but with pink instead of blue. She seemed peppy, unlike the regal Chun-Yan and quiet Sakura.

"Sakura will escort you to the rooms where you will stay," said Chun-Yan, before saying something very quickly in Eastern Language to Sakura. The younger woman looked shocked, and replied questioningly. Chun-Yan said something sharp, and Sakura bowed once more before turning to Madeline and Amelia.

"Come with me," she said, in a low, soft voice.

* * *

"What were they saying?" hissed Amelia in an attempt at a whisper, as they made their way through dimly-lit corridors. Sakura walked in front of them, acting as if she couldn't hear them, but Madeline was certain that she could.

"I don't know," whispered Madeline. "We'll talk about it later."

When they turned a corner, Sakura seemed to hold her breath. Madeline was unsure why – it seemed like every other they had been through, empty rooms behind white sliding doors.

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, Madeline saw a flicker of movement. Whipping her head around, she saw the silhouette of a man through one of the screens, and had to stifle a scream. A second later, the shadow had melted away.

"Maddy!" Amelia jogged her twin's arm. "Hurry up!"  
"Sorry." Sakura turned to look back at them, and when Madeline caught her eye, an understanding passed between them. The older woman knew that Madeline had seen something, but could not or would not tell her what it was.

* * *

The next morning, the girls woke up to find freshly pressed Eastern robes at the foot of their sleeping mats. They dressed awkwardly – should they still wear the corset beneath something so baggy? – but once they were finished, an attendant appeared like magic and led them to a room where they were served bowls of rice, soup, and some pastry-like foodstuff that they didn't recognise but ate anyway – it tasted well enough. They were given Western cutlery to use, not the customary chopsticks.

Madeline was finishing off the last of her rice, listening to Amelia talk about her dreams of the previous night, when Xiang entered.

"Her Majesty my Aunt suggested that I take you to the Royal Library today," he said tonelessly. "There are many books that may interest you."

A short walk later, Amelia had bounded off into the confines of the cavernous library, and Madeline had hung back, wanting to talk to Xiang. Not privately of course, there were three attendants watching them.  
"My Lord…"

Xiang looked up at her, from examining the fingernails of his left hand. He looked so _bored_, Madeline felt herself blushing.

"I was thinking… ah, no, not thinking…"  
"Speak Western," he said dully.  
"I was wondering if there is anybody in this household that we haven't met yet," she gabbled. "A family member, I mean… or a guest…?"

Xiang stared at her, hard and unembarrassed. Madeline averted her eyes.

"No." Xiang returned to inspecting his hands. "No."

* * *

Standing over his father, Francis felt the oddest emotions.

The physician had told him that Rodel had deteriorated rapidly, and would likely meet his Maker in the next few weeks.

Suddenly the old man stirred, and looked up at Francis with confused and very old blue eyes.

"Who are you?" he gasped out, shifting between the starched sheets. "Who…"  
Rodel trailed off, eyes drifting shut, and he was back in the realm of unconsciousness.

Francis' heart felt like it was being weighted down in his chest. But along with that feeling of loss, there was something ugly, something maliciously gleeful that the man who had made him feel so worthless for his entire life was bedridden and hardly able to remember his own name.

Standing over his father, Francis felt deliciously, _disgustingly_, content.

* * *

**Why is Francis so hard to write, when he isn't his usual sexy self? ;u;**

**Reviews keep me going, so leave one please!**


	12. Correspondence

**I'm starting to get back on track here - the next chapter is already in the process of being written! This is a bit of a build-up chapter, to be honest. The shit gets real in Chapter 12. **

**Meanwhile, I'm doing oneshot requests! PM me for details.**

**Enjoy~!**

* * *

Chapter 11 - Correspondence

_noun_

_communication by exchange of letters ; agreement, conformity_

* * *

_August_

_Dear Diary_,

_Today was definitely not awesome! I received a letter from Maddy, her LAST one, since she's been SENT AWAY TO THE EASTERN KINGDOM._

_Why? Why would she leave like that? Who made her and why? This whole situation is so riddled with un-awesome._

_I should also mention that Marianna went home since Felli and Lutz have worked out their problems, and everyone is being really nice all the time, even Felli's moody broad of a sister. BUT I WON'T BECAUSE I AM TOO ANGRY ABOUT MADELINE._

* * *

_September_

"So _Xiang_, who do you get on best with in your family?" Amelia asked one day. The three young royals were sitting on a blanket outside in the gardens, surrounded by books about plants. It was Xiang's duty to give them informal lessons for the duration of their stay, since they would have nothing much else to do – their visit wasn't going to be short enough for constant festivities. They were supposed to be studying the various flowers around them, but their conversation had gone in other directions.

"Don't you think that's a bit of a personal question?" Xiang said with a raised eyebrow.  
"No, it's just being interested," countered Amelia. "Come on _Xiang_, tell us!"  
She seemed to love saying his name, probably because it was so different from any back in the Britannic Kingdom.

"Mei," Xiang said simply.  
"Why?"  
"You never get tired, do you?"  
"No!" giggled Amelia.  
"She's the closest in age, and therefore doesn't treat me like a child."

"Xiang, could you tell me what a word means?" asked Madeline. The twins' Eastern Language had improved vastly in the month they had been here, but sometimes they still had to ask about certain words.  
"Go ahead." When Madeline told him the word, he said, "It means 'suspicious'," the dark-haired prince said, saying the last word in Western so that Madeline could understand. "Where did you hear that?"

"Oh, nowhere," lied Madeline, but as Xiang stared at her, she felt her resolve crumble. "Alright, I heard two attendants talking."  
"What were they talking about?" Xiang didn't sound prying, like most people would, just nonchalant, as if it was his right to know.  
"Well…" Madeline began uneasily, "one said 'He really hates that they are here. He is very suspicious'. That was all I heard."

"Who's 'he'?" asked Amelia.

Xiang said nothing.

* * *

_October_

_Dear Francis,_

_I hear your father is ailing. You have my sympathy._

_Just a short letter to say that Bella and Lars want us all to have dinner together. Bella also wants to invite their family doctor, who practically saved Lars' life last year, you do remember that? You should ask some general questions about problems of the mind – nothing specific to yourself of course. You need help, you frog._

_Give my regards to your sister._

_Arthur._

* * *

_November_

"You do understand what married life entails?"

Natalya and Dr. Koller were sitting in that morning room where they had had their first appointment. Natalya was no longer hunched in on herself as she had been in the previous appointments, but she was by no means relaxed. Dr. Koller sat in a chair opposite her, writing notes on autopilot while he talked.

"Of course," scoffed Natalya. "Sharing a bed. Children. Like my cousin."  
"Your cousin?"  
"Raisa Galante." Natalya stared down at her skirt, rolling the hem back and forth through her fingers. "Her and Eduard ran away last year, got married secretly, and now they have a son."  
"I didn't know that," remarked Julian interestedly.  
"Everyone's keeping it from Ivan, and Katyusha's skull is too thick to have picked it up, but I listen," Natalya responded, her tone bitter.

"Why is everyone keeping it from Ivan?"  
"He might go and murder them," said Natalya darkly – the best she could manage for a joke. "He is stubbornly protective of our farmer cousins. He wants them all to himself."  
Suddenly, she slumped, her face in her hands.  
"Why can't he want _me _all to himself?" she whispered through her fingers, desperately hoping that Julian would give her an answer. "Why is he not protective of me in that manner?"

"I'm sure he _is _protective of you," said Dr. Koller soothingly, noting down her sudden mood change in his notebook. "He simply doesn't share your fervour for marriage. But do you truly have those feelings for him – the desire to, as you put it, 'share a bed and have children'?"

Natalya sat up, and dropped all expression so that her face was as blank as a piece of slate.  
"I was told once that marriage is always having someone to stand beside you and never leave you," she said, not wanting to give away her feelings, but at the same time wanting Julian to know how she felt without having to make a fool of herself.

_It's the loneliness she fears_, thought Julian.

* * *

_December_

Suddenly dizzy, King Francis collapsed into an armchair and closed his eyes, engulfed in a particularly vivid memory.

_Lying on his back on the cold stone floor. Pulsating pain. Vision blurry with shocked tears._

With a shudder, Francis broke free. These flashbacks were becoming more frequent, and it felt like their source was at the edge of his mind, just out of his grasp. It frustrated – no, _infuriated_ him.

* * *

"You don't celebrate the New Year?" gaped Amelia. This time, the trio were sitting in the library on some rather splendidly carved chairs. Xiang had a book open on his knees in a display of disinterest, but he was actually listening to and participating in a conversation with the girls. Over five months of their stay, he had to admit that he had grown friendly with them.

"Of course we celebrate the New Year," he replied. "But it's roughly two months later than _your_ New Year. Luckily for you, as our guests you are being treated to a special feast in honour of your holiday."

"All right!" Amelia cried, before quieting down at pointed looks from their attendants.  
"_'All right'_? That doesn't make sense," sighed Madeline.  
"I could learn better Western from Mei," agreed Xiang, "and she hardly speaks any Western."

Amelia pouted for a second before thinking of something new to ask.  
"Xiang, what happened to your parents?" It was an innocent enough question; the girls had lost their parents when they were young, and had scarcely known them before that. The only parents they knew were their godfathers, Arthur and Francis.

After a pause, Xiang said, "I don't know. I never knew my father." The statement seemed to end far too soon.  
"And your mother?" prompted Madeline.  
"I've lived at this castle since I was born," the prince responded evenly. He was loath to lie, but he could keep a secret.  
"You remind me of someone," Amelia mused. She leaned to the side a little, closer to her sister, and gestured at Xiang's face. "Can't you see it, Maddy? The way his lips turn down a little when he's thinking?"  
"I see it," gasped Madeline. "He looks a little like Arthur…"

Amelia nodded vigourously.  
"The nose as well –"  
"Not really, more like the –"  
"The eyebrows!"  
"Very true, I can't believe we didn't –"

"Excuse me," interrupted Xiang. "What are you talking about?"  
"You look like my godfather, King Arthur!" exclaimed Amelia, jabbing a finger in his face eagerly.  
"And why is that so riveting to you?" asked Xiang in a bland tone. But he knew why it was so exciting, and behind his unfathomable eyes his mind began to whirr.

His mother had never told him the identity of his father. Amelia and Madeline were honest girls, they wouldn't lead him on with something that wasn't true.

Through them, could he discover who his father was?

* * *

_Dear_

Ivan paused, then crossed out his first word, rewriting it with:

_Dearest Toris,_

_I would like it very much if you and Eduard and Raisa came home._

He had no idea why Natalya's doctor had told him to do _this_ when he had bashfully asked if there was any way to persuade his cousins to return to the Crystal Castle. A polite letter, Dr. Koller had stressed.

_We are all missing you very much. Please come back._

Chewing on the end of his pen, Ivan pondered on what other things he could write. Really, what else was there? Thinking back to the advice he had been given, he remembered being told to compromise as much as possible.

_You do not have to stay long._

Well, once they came back, they would realise how much they wanted to stay and how silly they had been to leave! Ivan could lie as much as he wanted - it was all for the greater good.

_Yes, just come for a short visit so that we can exchange news, then you can go back – but only if you want to of course! I will have your favourite meals made and your chambers restored, and you can do whatever you please, I will have your paperwork taken up by the council._

There was nothing wrong with a bit of old-fashioned bribery!

_Katyusha and Natalya send their love._

Well, Katyusha sent her love.

_Your faithful cousin and friend,_

_Ivan_

* * *

"He sounds so lonely," murmured Toris, rereading Ivan's letter for the umpteenth time. He sat in his warm study, fire roaring and curtains drawn against the bitter night outside. Felicja sat beside him, reading over his shoulder.

"Maybe, but he could totally be lying," she said, eyes narrowed. "See how he like, purposely leaves me out? He just wants to like, trap you three again, you know."

Toris hummed uneasily in response.

"And what about Sasha?" demanded Felicja, referring to her adored nephew Aleksandr, now ten months old, with pale, baby blond hair and big blue-violet eyes. He was just starting to walk, and always dragged a wooden train along with him, like a comfort blanket. "What would Ivan do to _him_?"

An uncomfortable silence fell as they both struggled to block out mental images of _exactly_ how Ivan would react.

"B-But…" Toris couldn't ignore the guilt gnawing in his stomach over how they had abandoned Ivan, told him they were coming back and then just left him. "He says we can visit for just a short time…"

"Ugh, think it through Liet!" snapped Felicja. "Do you _honestly _think that if you like, go there, he's just going to let you come back whenever you want and stuff?"

Toris shook his head.  
"But I can't leave it like this," he said finally, in a firm tone. "I have to go back sometime, to explain everything. He's a child at heart, can't you see from the way he wrote the letter? We'll take extra guards _especially _to protect Aleksandr."

Felicja pondered this. "Fine," she agreed after a while. "But I'm coming with you. I'm like, the only one who has the guts to stand up to him!"

* * *

**Now I can finally get onto writing that ending that I've been waiting for! Well, there's a couple more chapters at least, plus epilogue. I think you're looking at about three more chapters?**

**Now, go to the poll on my profile and vote on what you want to see next!**

**Please review~ It only takes a minute, but it really brightens up my day :)**


	13. Reveal

**Short chapter this time. But I'm hoping it'll be satisfying in it's revealing of all secrets, practically. I listened to the Great Pianists album while writing most of this, I don't know if you can tell, but it made me write a bit more periodically.**

**If you haven't voted on the poll on my page, GO AND DO IT NOW. Otherwise, enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

Chapter 12 – Reveal

_noun_

_to make known; disclose; __divulge_

* * *

_January_

"Are you _joking_?"  
It was late at night, and Amelia and Madeline were in their room in the Grand Palace. Madeline had pushed her sleeping mat so that it was right beside her sister's, and they lay facing each other. All was dark, quiet, and very still.

Madeline had just told Amelia the entire story about the shadow.

"There's someone hiding in the palace!" Amelia whispered, eyes wide and bright in the limited light. "It's just like a novel! We need to find out who it is, and why they are hiding there!"  
"We can't!" hissed Madeline. "It's somebody else's house – we can't pry into their personal affairs!"  
"But it's a _mystery_," wheedled Amelia. "An adventure! I'd be the heroine of the story of course, and you could be my assistant!"

Madeline resisted the urge to roll her eyes at Amelia's twist of the situation to focus on herself.  
"It would be so disrespectful to our hosts if we were discovered," she pointed out.  
"We'll wait until Chun-Yan goes on a diplomatic visit," the other girl grinned, planning everything out in her head. "Yes, then we can sneak to the corridor during the night, when everyone else is asleep, and peek into the room and see who it is!"

"Her Majesty might not go on a visit soon," Madeline sighed sleepily, partly pleased at not having to break so many rules, but also disappointed – she wanted to know who the mystery person was as much as her twin.

The next morning, Amelia gave Madeline the biggest, most self-satisfied smirk she could, when at breakfast Chun-Yan announced that she was visiting King Ivan for a few weeks.

* * *

_I'm mad_, Madeline thought to herself, standing in the empty corridor of the North Wing. Morbid curiosity was always Amelia's foible, never hers – and she had left her twin out of this for a reason. Amelia would be too loud, too ungainly, and would most certainly foil the whole operation by accident.

There was something about the mystery of this place that drew Madeline in, almost against her will.

She was going to pull back that screen door, she planned, and see who was hiding there.

Breathing steadily, she took a single step forward. Her wooden indoor shoe made the quietest clatter. Hesitantly, she took another step.

But before she could take another breath, the door she had been staring at as though her gaze was the single string holding her to this world – opened.

Out stepped a man, his hair a dull black-brown and rather limp, drawn back into a braid that hung down his back. His face was turned away from Madeline, looking further down the corridor, but when he moved to look to his right, she gasped. It was _Yong Soo_. And yet it _wasn't_; this man was paler, thinner, and somehow… different.

Suddenly their eyes met, and his were surprisingly clear.  
"I'm looking for my brother," he said, voice slightly hoarse and with a guttural accent. "I haven't seen him for a very long time."  
"Y-Your brother?"  
"Wait." The man – Yong Soo's brother – scanned her face intently. Then his eyes narrowed. "You're one of those _outsiders_."  
"Outsiders?" Madeline's eyes flicked to the left, desperately calculating the time it would take for her to run.

"One of those Western outsiders, come to fool my family," he hissed, shoulders tensing. His pupils shrank to no more than pinpricks, and suddenly he was furious and very threatening. "They told me, they told me that's what you're doing, they told me!" Suddenly he lunged forward and Madeline screamed, throwing her arms in front of her to block him.

Luckily two servants who had heard her cry, got there before Yong Soo's brother managed to strike Madeline, and pulled him back.  
"Fetch the young master!"

"Let me go!" shouted Yong Soo's brother, struggling against the servants, thrashing wildly and clawing desperately for Madeline with fury in his eyes. "I have to stop her from destroying this family!"  
"Hyung Soo!"

Yong Soo bounded down the hallway from behind them and wrapped both arms around his brother's waist, holding him back tightly. "You have the wrong girl, it isn't her!" he said quickly.

Hung Soo froze, then shoved his brother off. "Get away, all of you!" he snapped. "I can't breathe out here!" Breathing erratically, as if he was actually short of air, he ran back into his room and slammed the door.

The attendants melted away, leaving Yong Soo with a shell-shocked Madeline. The Eastern royal scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.  
"It's a good thing Chun-Yan isn't here," he grinned. "I think you and your sister deserve the full story."

* * *

"Your _twin_?" Yong Soo had invited both girls to his quarters, and they were now listening, gobsmacked, to his tale with cups of now-cold tea forgotten on the table in front of them.

Yong Soo nodded. "We were so close as children! But we began to fight in adolescence, and then he contracted a strange… illness."

The excitable, energetic prince was unusually morose.

"He became chronically suspicious of everyone – even me! He claimed we were trying to murder him, and that the voices in the walls told him so! He stayed in his rooms for longer every day, and now he even grows his own vegetables and eats them, because he doesn't trust us not to poison any food we give him."

"That's terrible," whispered Madeline, feeling guilty now that her and Amelia had been plotting to discover who the 'person hiding in the palace' was. It was just a poor, ill young man whose cousins were desperately trying to accommodate him.

"Oh." Amelia however, had no such qualms. She was just disappointed that is wasn't someone like an illegitimate child or a stowaway.

"Well, now that that's out of the way, I feel _so_ much better!" Yong Soo jumped up, grinning once more. "Secrecy is so _exhausting_! You two go off and enjoy the rest of the day."

* * *

_February_

Prince Freyr jolted awake, out of a particularly vivid dream about himself and Lili. When he realised that it was nothing but that, a dream, he cursed himself as he felt tears prick in his eyes. He flopped back onto his pillow, uncomfortably sweaty between his sheets.

This was ridiculous. The whole situation was completely laughable!

How was it that some fifteen-year-old rivalry ended up with a war that would stop him from seeing the only girl he could ever love for _three whole years?_

Freyr frowned, and ended that train of thought. He was definitely going mad! What he should have been thinking was: how was it that he was going so utterly crazy over Lili? She occupied his every waking moment, her hair, her eyes, her lean form, her soft smile. Words scratched into pieces of paper were not enough for an aching young man – he needed to see her in the flesh, to hold her.

He let out a long, frustrated groan, pressing his palms to his face. A second later, there was a knock at his door, and he froze.

"Ice?" came a soft call. Freyr relaxed; it was Tiina. Why she called him Ice, he didn't know, but it was oddly comforting. "Are you all right?"  
"Fine," he grunted.  
"Please may I come in?"  
"'Course." One thing he liked about Tiina was how she respected his privacy. The last thing he needed was another Ingrid, pushing her nose into his business.

The young Queen slipped into his chamber, clad in her billowing white nightdress and a heavy dressing gown. Her hair was loose, and she had a sleepy, serene expression.

"I couldn't sleep," she admitted, sitting in the chair beside his bed. "I was walking when I heard you. Are you sure that you don't need anything?"  
Freyr nodded. "Dreams."  
"Nightmares?" she asked worriedly.

"Dreams of things I can't have," he murmured cryptically, hoping that Tiina was too tired to interpret. Unfortunately, she wasn't.  
"Lady Lili?" she asked, a knowing smile creeping onto her face. Freyr reddened in response. "Don't worry Ice, you'll see her again soon enough. Nothing can stand in the way of true love."

Patting his tousled hair, she got up and made to leave – and Freyr didn't miss her hand resting ever so slightly on her abdomen as she did.

* * *

Francis sat at Lars and Bella's table, eating quietly as his companions talked around him. The planned dinner had actually happened, and they were in the midst of it.

The dining room wasn't the most splendidly decorated, but it had received attention especially for the night, and had a homely feel to it. The meal itself was light – an all-too-obvious sign of hard times – but prepared with care, which practically made up for it. Lars was at the head of the table, with Bella on his left, Arthur beside her, Dr. Nicolas Smit on his right, and Francis beside _him_.

The conversation had gone from all the customary topics – the weather, the food, all the rubbish that Francis wasn't interested in. Now it was getting a little deeper: new medical methods.

"The practice of inhaling steam to loosen any build-up in the lungs is becoming more popular," Nicolas was saying.  
"You prescribed that to my brother, didn't you Doctor?" Bella beamed at Arthur and Francis. "Just one of the many things that served to save his life!"  
Dr. Smit bowed his head with a modest smile. Francis noted that he wasn't a braggart; how refreshing.

"What about new methods of healing illnesses of the mind?" Arthur asked, in an innocently curious tone. Francis looked up at that, and caught his friend's eye for a second, before going back to his meal with his ears straining for an answer. If the other guests noticed, they didn't say anything.

"Ah, I was about to mention that. I have a colleague – well no, not colleague, I have only met him once, plus he is far better than me – who is currently working with the royal family of the Long Winter Kingdom."

"Princess Natalya," Bella giggled before she could stop herself. Nobody bothered chastising her, since they were all thinking the same.

"I don't know the details," said Nicolas quickly, "but I know that he is pioneering methods of discussing dreams, thoughts and so on, with the patient himself in order to understand where the problem lies."

The diners nodded with interest.

"I've heard of an illness where the _patient _is suddenly struck with an idea that they cannot dispel," said Arthur boldly, carefully keeping his eyes trained on the doctor. "Their personality changes, and sometimes the ideas linger for years."

Francis drew in a sharp breath. Arthur was going too far!

Nicolas tilted his head in thought. "There are many factors which can trigger such a change in a person: a death, perhaps, or another such event which affects the person deeply. But personality changes are also connected with head trauma."

Head trauma.

* * *

_Climbing out of bed. Father's war was still going, and the king was unhappy. Angry with Francis for being so careless about it. If only he could bring himself to care. _

_One foot, weak from sleep, giving way, sending him toppling forward._

_A sharp crack._

_Seeing stars when his head collided with his bedside cabinet._

_Keeling over, head thunking once more on the stone floor._

_Blackout._

_Roused by voices, worried, anxious voices. The face of a guard swimming above him. Shaking his head uncomprehendingly, hearing fuzzy, tears streaming down his cheeks._

* * *

It was only when Francis heard the cacophonous crash of his chair hitting the floor that he realised several things.

He was standing up. He had stood up so abruptly that his chair was sent flying.

Dr. Smit, Arthur, Bella and Lars were all staring at him.

Bella looked shocked. Dr. Smit concerned. Lars tense. Arthur… surprise, realization, understanding, and worry were all there.

His food was picked at, his hairline sweaty, and his hands shaking.

That old scar on his forehead was now throbbing in remembrance.

"I –" He could hardly speak. "I must go."

Then he fled, reeling with too many emotions to name.

* * *

**To clarify, Hyung Soo is North Korea. My headcanon is that North Korea must have some sort of paranoia, since the government is very hostile and suspicious. The South Korean government recognises any Korean, North or South, to be a citizen of South Korea, so Yong Soo still considers Hyung Soo his brother in spite of their differences.**

**_Review_ is all I can say.**


	14. Plan

**This chapter :T I feel like I'm kind of fobbing you guys off this it, but these scenes kinda need to get out the way. The next chapter is the climax, I promise! Now if only I would stop getting inspiration for random AUs with all the wrong genderbends and in the wrong time setting! Blarghh!**

**Okay, please read and enjoy. AND VOTE ON MY POLL.**

* * *

Chapter 13 - Plan

_verb_

_a specific project or definite purpose_

* * *

_February_

Dreams are exceedingly powerful things. They can make a person, or break them. They can inspire or discourage, heal or hurt.

When Princess Madeline woke up from a dream, she realised something that she felt had been staring her in the face for months, if not years.

The war must be ended. And a mad, brilliant plan was beginning to form in the young woman's mind.

* * *

Francis was slumped over his desk. Papers were scattered around him, along with an open inkwell and several dripping pens. His hair was disheveled, his shirt wrinkled, and his eyelids drooping.

His father was a step away from meeting his Maker, and all he could do was plan a fight.

But that was all he could do. Ever since that fateful dinner, Francis had felt – out of place. Like he wasn't himself.

_One more battle_, he vowed silently. _One more_.

* * *

"King Francis is readying himself for the biggest battle yet," muttered Ludwig, studying the reports from the battlefield. "So many men…"

"Tell me what's happening!" demanded Gilbert, who was sat opposite his brother in the meeting room, sketching birds on a blank sheet of paper.

"They say that Francis is preparing the mother of all battles, and he is even planning to lead it himself." Setting the pages down and making sure they were neat, the blond King propped his elbows up onto the table and rested his forehead on his hands. "If he leads his battle, it is only right that I lead the Deutsch army."

"_What?_"

Gilbert was many things, but one of his most defining features was his protectiveness of his younger brother. He would freely admit that he would go to the four corners of the world to keep Ludwig safe, and this was the perfect opportunity to make good that promise.

"Lutz, you can't go."

"Brother, I must. I can't just exist as a figurehead – I need to prove that I am a true king. Especially since I led Deutschland into this mess," he added downheartedly.

"You're too important!" insisted Gilbert, keeping his cocky smile even though panic was beginning to creep into his tone. "Make a lesser man go."

"Which lesser man? There are none suitable."

"'Which lesser man?'" Gilbert stood up, puffed out his chest, and gestured heroically to himself. "You're staring right at the lesser man, Lutz!"

The younger man was suddenly lost for words. His brother, lead the army? It was true that Gilbert was a genius at that sort of thing, but could Ludwig really allow him to go?

"Come on," cajoled Gilbert. "Your life is just beginning! You're young, happily married with a child on the way, and you're brilliant. Look at me. I go on about how awesome my life is, but everyone knows the truth. I spend my days pining after a girl I can't have, who I probably will never see again, and I drag you down with me. I don't have a life. If anything, you should be forcing me to lead the battle! At least I could be of some use, and if I'm struck down – it won't be such a loss, eh?"

"How could you _say_ something like that?" Ludwig's voice was trembling with barely-controlled rage. "How could you say that if you were killed, it wouldn't be a loss? You're a self-centred idiot, but you're my older _brother_! Don't you think that _means something?_"

All Gilbert did was smile ruefully.

"Think about it this way. If you died, it would devastate Felicita, your baby would grow up without a father, Deutschland would lose their king, and the household would collapse. Isn't it selfish of you to cause all of that when you could send someone with no such ties?"

With one final look at his brother, Gilbert left the room, leaving that thought hanging in the air like a cloud heavy with rain.

* * *

Amelia and Xiang sat speechless, staring at Madeline with a mixture of admiration and disbelief. The entire library seemed to be holding it's breath, waiting for somebody to say something.

"You think you'll be able to do that?" Xiang asked incredulously.  
"It's heroic, but… crazy!" agreed Amelia.  
"I have to do it," Madeline sighed, staring at her hands in her lap.  
"Why? Why are you prepared to risk so much?" Xiang was using his 'interrogation' tone of voice – the one which made it seem like he had the right to know the answer to whatever he asked.

"I…" Madeline ducked her head, letting her hair fall between herself and her companions, and chewed her lip, debating whether or not to tell them. On one hand, it wasn't _really _their business, since she wasn't asking them for anything other than their confidence, and she was rather embarrassed. But on the other… "Alright, I'll tell you. I'm… in love with Prince Gilbert."

"What?"  
"Be quiet," Xiang cut Amelia off sharply. "Continue."  
"I've loved him since the night I met him," confessed Madeline, suddenly unable to hold it in. "We continued our correspondence in secret even after Arthur forbade me, and we grew so close on paper that since I haven't been allowed to hear from him –" her voice cracked, and she had to pause and draw a shaky breath. "Of course, I'm also worried about Papa Francis, when I saw him on our birthday he looked very ill…"

She trailed off awkwardly.

"A worthy reason."  
The twins both looked at Xiang. Madeline had no idea that she was being tested, and Amelia seemed to still be processing her sister's proclamation. Xiang's lips twitched upwards very faintly.  
"I can provide access to a train for you," he said. "When Her Majesty returns, the wheels of your plan can begin turning."

* * *

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